


A Place That's Safe and Warm

by honeysucklepink



Category: Glee
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Social Media, mention of real life terror attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 06:12:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeysucklepink/pseuds/honeysucklepink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Writer and blogger Blaine Anderson just wanted to have a few drinks, hook up with his friend Kurt, and pretend for a little while that his adopted city of Boston hadn’t been attacked. He meant to make a quiet exit the morning after, but overbearing parents, a cranky roommate, and the justice system had other plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. @MIT

**Author's Note:**

> Shortly after the Boston lockdown, and literally the day before the Blaine Big Bang deadline for authors, I read this column (http://www.esquire.com/blogs/culture/lust-during-wartime) on Esquire magazine’s website. I wanted this to be a Klaine fic so badly, and I had never done a Big Bang before so I thought “why not?” This has been an amazing challenge and I have been so lucky to work with three amazing people. First, hugs, kisses, thanks, and a lifetime supply of Dunkin’ Donuts to my two awesome betas, Carolyn (nineofhearts.tumblr.com) and Odd (shesanoddoneisntshe.tumblr.com). Carolyn helped me with Boston stuff, SPAG, and other elements. Odd really pushed me as a writer, especially when I couldn’t see the forest for the trees. Then there’s my artist, Rachel (blog.rachelnacilla.com); having a graphic designer that could work with all of the social media elements in my story and bring it to life was just kismet, so thank you.
> 
> Warnings: References to past and recent terrorist attacks (Boston Marathon, 9/11), past gay-bashing in canon.
> 
> Disclaimers: Brand names and images used in this fic are the property of said brands. It’s fanfic, for Pete’s sake!
> 
> Narrative housekeeping: this is an AU where Kurt never goes to spy on Dalton; other canonical elements remain however (Rachel still goes to NYADA, Brittany to MIT, etc.). The characters are either finishing up or right out of college at the time of the Marathon Bombing, and Blaine is a year older than everyone else (so he would have been born in 1989-90, Kurt in 1990-91, etc.). The timeline is kept via the tweets, so check the timestamp on those if you wonder “when” we are. Title is from “Into Your Arms” by The Lemonheads and there is a LOT of music from Boston artists throughout the fic (along with video clips), so click the links!

***

****

**MIT @MIT There is a report of an active shooter in the vicinity of Bldg. 32 (Stata). Please stay clear of the area. emergency.mit.edu 10:52 PM - 18 Apr 13**

**_11:02 p.m.:_ ** _So do you want to come over? Just opened a bottle of Kung Fu Girl Riesling and can’t finish it myself._

Blaine looked down at the text his friend Kurt had sent him earlier; _thank god it hadn't been Mom again,_ he thought. He had been sitting in a South End bar, checking his Twitter feed and nursing the last of his pint of Guinness when it came in. He was happy to have the distraction; ever since the Boston Marathon was bombed that Monday it was all he could think about, when his parents weren’t calling and texting non-stop.

So a missed train connection and a cab ride later, Blaine found himself at Kurt’s door, a little unsteady on his feet. He leaned on the door as he knocked and nearly fell into the foyer when Kurt opened it, swaying and lazy-eyed, holding the bottle of Riesling by the neck.

“Well,” Kurt slurred. “You look drunk.”

“I _am_ drunk,” Blaine replied. “Satan’s not here, is she?”

“Nope. Depending on your point of view she is either fortunately or unfortunately stuck at MIT with Brit. Said she’d text me if things changed. Drink?”

Blaine looked at the bottle in Kurt’s hand, already half empty. “Eh, I don’t know how wine on top of stout is gonna do me any favors.”

“Suit yourself, more for me. Come on in,” Kurt said motioning with his hand. Blaine made a beeline for the sofa, barely missing the coffee table where there was a single wine glass, already full. He didn’t so much sit as he did fall into the cushions. He could hear the [Dresden Dolls](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SJ9Bv99wo-E) coming out of the entertainment system speakers; Kurt must have had his “Life Sucks” iPod playlist plugged in.

“So how’s your week been? Because mine was _crap_ ,” Kurt drawled as he plopped down on the other end, reaching for his glass.

Blaine sighed. Writing for _[Paste](http://www.pastemagazine.com/) _ meant he usually had good gossip from a concert or an interview subject. But with the week’s events overshadowing everything there wasn’t much to talk about. “ _Slow_. All I have going on work-wise is something for Saturday’s ‘Record Store Day’ that’s due tomorrow, but that’ll be easy to knock out. Other than that? Let’s see... I’ve been driving Sam to work while his car is in the shop, I think Roxy’s got some weird rash I have to call the vet about. Oh, and I had to block my mom’s number. Ever since Monday she has not. Stopped. Calling…”

“You know I was there, right?”

Blaine stopped mid-sentence. His mouth was still open, but no words or sounds would come out. He looked at Kurt, who was staring into his wine glass, as if it might hold the answers to the mysteries of the universe. Blaine furrowed his brow and turned his head; he was pretty sure if he could see himself, he’d say he looked like a puppy that just heard a dog whistle.

“Um…come again?”

Kurt looked back up at his friend. “Well, I wasn’t actually _there_ , like at the finish line. I didn’t see, like, the chaos or, you know…” he motioned with his hand and Blaine nodded. “But I was on campus, heard the blasts, was evacuated, and haven’t been back since.”

“Oh God, Kurt, I’m…I can’t believe it didn’t even register with me that the campus is _right_ _there_.” Blaine was internally kicking himself. It had been less than a year since he finished his music business degree at the Berklee College of Music, where Kurt was completing his own coursework in Vocal Performance. “I should have known they would probably cancel classes this week, shit I should have called you sooner. I’m so sorry, Kurt.  I just didn’t even think.” He reached out and placed his hand on Kurt’s in a gesture of comfort.

“Don’t worry about it. Normally I wouldn’t have even been there because of the Patriot’s Day holiday. But graduation is less than a month away and I have my final vocal projects to prepare for.”

“So, do you know when you’ll be able to go back?”

Kurt shrugged. “No idea…hopefully Monday, depends on how long the investigation takes. I just…shit, never mind.” He turned and took a large gulp of wine.

Blaine could tell Kurt was trying to close himself up, and that it was the last thing he needed. “What is it? It’s probably better for you to just say it.”

Kurt closed his eyes for a moment, took a breath and steeled himself to speak. “I, damn it, I feel guilty for thinking this way, you know? I’m so preoccupied with ‘what happens if they don’t reopen for the rest of the school year?’ and ‘I hope I can graduate on time’ and ‘I hope Rachel’s kicked her obnoxious boyfriend out so I can live with her in New York.’ I _still_ think he’s a drug dealer...or a gigolo. Either way I don’t like the guy.” Kurt gesticulated with his glass, some of the wine sloshing out.

“So I’m sitting here wallowing in my self-pity. Meanwhile there are people that lost their legs, lost their arms, their _lives_ , Blaine. Their _kids_. All my shit just seems so petty compared to that.” Kurt’s eyes began to well with tears; he wiped them away with the back of his sleeve. “You know why Santana’s stuck at MIT? All she wanted to do was surprise Brittany and then there was a _shooting_ on campus. Did you hear about it?”

He recalled the tweet he saw when he got Kurt’s text. “Yeah, actually. I gotta admit my first thought was ‘school shooting.’ _Again_ , and this week of all weeks, really?”

“I don’t think it was one of those. A campus cop was shot; they think it was the same guys that did the bombing, so now they’re on a lockdown. It’s just, I haven’t been sleeping well, and I can’t go to campus for studio time, and I just feel stuck and now I’m all alone and I just didn’t want to be by myself tonight…” Kurt took a breath, and then immediately another, looking like he was about to hyperventilate. Blaine knew when Kurt was spiraling and this was a textbook case.

“Hey, hey, come here,” Blaine sat up, took Kurt’s glass and set it back on the coffee table. He tugged Kurt towards him and pulled him into a hug, stroking his back. Kurt soaked the collar of his polo as he sobbed into his neck. “Now I want you to listen to me, Kurt. It’s okay to feel however you want to feel. It’s okay if you’re scared, or anxious, and you can even be a little selfish. But that doesn’t make you a bad person, it makes you a _human being_. Look, it’s not like you’re not upset that there were people hurt and that people died, right?” He could feel Kurt nod and hear him mumble a little affirmation. “And you’re probably a little scared for Santana and Brittany too, I bet. So you have every right to have a pity party, Kurt Hummel.” Blaine then took Kurt’s face in his hands, and wiped his wet cheeks with his thumbs. “A lot of people maybe lost their dreams this week. Or they just have to put them on hold for a little while. You think they want to do that?”

“No,” Kurt sniffled.

“Of course not. But you also have _your_ life and _your_ dreams. You don’t want to put those on hold, and there’s nothing wrong with feeling that way, you got that?”

Kurt took a breath in and then huffed out an exhale. “Okay.”

“Good,” Blaine said as he placed a kiss on Kurt’s cheek, holding his lips there for a moment. He then placed another kiss at the corner of Kurt’s mouth, and felt Kurt’s bottom lip twitch as he smiled. Their foreheads met, and Blaine looked up into Kurt’s eyes, the color of Quincy Bay, stormy and dark.

Kurt surged in first, pressing his lips to Blaine’s, breathing heavily through his nose, and Blaine swallowed up his kisses along with every fear, every ounce of guilt, every worry. He took Kurt’s anxiety and turned it into fuel. Blaine knew this gave Kurt an outlet, something he could control, something he could _do_ when there was nothing else that could be done.

This is just what they did. Ever since one fateful drunken night during Blaine's sophomore and Kurt's freshman years (when the former was recovering from a nasty breakup and the latter was homesick after a false alarm health scare from his dad), they had an informal 'fuck buddy' arrangement. For those times where Blaine's life went to shit and the only thing that could help him feel better was a pair of arms around him, a tongue in his mouth, and a cock in his ass, Kurt was there. And he was happy to return the favor when Kurt needed the same. Sex with Kurt was like a warm cashmere blanket, combined with an endorphin-releasing workout.

Blaine gave as good as Kurt, pouring his own frustrations into him with each kiss, each nibble, each swipe of his tongue, and letting him convert them to passion. Blaine could let go of deadlines, of his parent’s worrying, of his responsibilities, and just let Kurt _take_. He let Kurt sink against him, into his bones, and they rocked against each other, into the couch cushions, flowing in and out of each other like ocean currents. Blaine shifted his leg until he could feel Kurt’s hard-on up against him, and Kurt moaned loudly in response. “You ready to move this pity party elsewhere?” he said against Blaine’s lips.

Blaine grinned back, “Oh, _absolutely_.”

Kurt sat up, tugged on Blaine’s hand and pulled him up from the couch, giggling as he dragged him down the hallway, his wine glass in his other hand. He bumped into the wall at he turned toward his room, mumbling “whoops” followed by a snort. Handing his glass back to Blaine,  Kurt turned the knob and pushed while letting go, swinging the door in so sharply it bounced off the wall bumper and nearly swung back in his face. He stopped the door with his body, simultaneously grabbing his glass back from Blaine and taking his hand as they stumbled into his room.

“Better put this down,” Blaine sang, grabbing the glass after Kurt drained it of its last drops of wine. He had barely set it down on the nightstand when Kurt grabbed him from behind, sloppily kissing the back of his neck while pressing his fingertips into Blaine’s sides. Blaine turned in his arms and kissed Kurt hungrily, grabbing the back of his neck and pressing into his mouth with his tongue. Kurt pushed Blaine to the bed where they both collapsed in a heap.

Kurt’s weight was heavy but secure against Blaine. His body had him pinned down, under control…he could relax while Kurt sucked wetly against his neck, under his ear, against his Adam’s apple. His mouth found Blaine’s again, and the sweetness of the Riesling Kurt had been drinking commingled with the roasted malt of Blaine’s Guinness, their kisses becoming tart and bitter. Blaine breathed heavily through his nose; he wrapped his legs tightly around Kurt’s waist and started to rock, his hard-on growing in his jeans as he thrusted against him. Kurt was getting harder as well, his cock swelling and rubbing beneath Blaine’s against his inseam. Blaine felt heat rushing south and was desperate for more friction, more speed, more _Kurt_. He grasped for Kurt’s ass, grabbing the underside of his cheeks and rubbing Kurt up against him harder, moaning desperately into his mouth.

“God, I fucking want you,” Blaine breathed against Kurt’s cheek. “Want you so fucking bad, God why are we wearing all these goddamn _clothes_?”

“Hell if I know,” Kurt answered on an exhale, as he sat up and pulled his henley up over his head, his chestnut hair tousled and falling on his forehead. Blaine unwrapped his legs from Kurt and got up off the bed. He quickly got undressed, throwing his jeans and underwear over the back of a chair in the corner. By the time he tossed off his shirt and turned back around, he saw Kurt had peeled off his yoga pants and was kneeling on the bed, stroking his cock which was flushed red with arousal, the slit shining with pre-come. He had a smirk on his face that Blaine could only describe as _wicked_.

Blaine crawled back onto the bed and reached for Kurt, and they began to stroke each other. “Lean back,” Kurt told him, and he relaxed back against the headboard, his head settled into the pillows. Kurt continued to stroke, first softly and loosely but then harder and firmer. The alcohol settling into his bones made Blaine feel lead-heavy, yet with Kurt jerking him off it felt like his cock had its own gravitational pull, tugging him toward the ceiling, through the roof, into the cosmos.

Blaine thrust into Kurt’s fist, his face scrunched into a vision of bliss, his eyes glazing over in a lusty haze. He gasped at the sudden disappearance of Kurt’s hand until he felt the head of his cock enveloped in warmth and wetness. Kurt’s tongue swirled patterns along the ridge and underside, sending tiny sparks through Blaine every time he dipped into the slit where pre-come was steadily gathering. The more Blaine would moan, the higher his voice would pitch, the more Kurt would pick up speed, tighten his fist, or increase the suction as if on cue. Blaine had to admit, while they were just friends (he’d even go so far as to say they might be _best_ friends), Kurt knew what made him fall to pieces, and no other lover Blaine had ever had could hold a candle. Right now Blaine was on the precipice of going over the edge, plummeting into orgasm, as Kurt continued to suck and lick and twist…

“Whoa, wait, stop it, stop…” he reached down and pressed on Kurt’s shoulder, signaling him to come off.

Kurt came off Blaine with a purposeful *pop _*_. “What, what is it?”

“It’s just that, I’m just about to come _any second_.”

“I…kind of thought that was the idea?”

“I know, and it’s a very, _very good_ idea…” Blaine started to second guess himself. Maybe he should just let Kurt finish the blow job? It _was_ fucking amazing and…no, he needed more than to come. He needed to be _filled_ and he was desperate for it. “I just really need to be fucked right now Kurt, I need you to just fill me up with your cock and fuck me hard, _please_.”

“Oh…okay, sure we can do that.” Kurt looked down at him as he bit on his lower lip in contemplation. “Fucked into the mattress, or the wall?”

Blaine laughed and started to sit back up. “Um, how about you fuck me against the headboard?”

“Really? Wait, have we ever done that?”

“Nope. Because you share a wall with Santana. But _she’s not here_ …” he sing-songed while surging up for a quick kiss.

“Ohhhhh, that’s right,” Kurt giggled. He reached over toward the nightstand, pulling the drawer open and retrieving a bottle of lube and a condom. “So, do you want to prep yourself, or do you want me to do it?”

Blaine looked at Kurt’s long, slender fingers wrapped around the bottle and could already _feel_ them in his ass as if from phantom memory. “Oh Jesus Christ in Heaven _please_ , you.” Blaine flipped over and tucked his knees underneath himself, hugging a pillow while burying the side of his face into it. He sighed while getting comfortable, and heard the cap of the lube pop, then felt a slick finger rubbing under his balls, against his perineum.

“Ah, _yes_ ,” he whispered, humming affirmatively. He breathed rhythmically, cleansing steady breaths in and out as he relaxed. Kurt’s talented fingers brushed against him, treating Blaine’s body like a musical instrument in the hands of a maestro. The strokes were long and steady at first, but more teasing than anything else, following a path from his balls to his puckered hole. He would intermittently press on a spot that would make Blaine’s breath catch in his throat, then sigh with pleasure.

Blaine heard the cap snap open again, then yelped and giggled as he felt lube dribbled down his ass. He heard the cap close, then felt Kurt’s long fingers against him once more, pressing against him in little circles, light at first, then harder until Blaine was in delicious agony, thrusting his ass against Kurt’s hand, wordlessly begging to be opened up. Finally Kurt pressed in a finger, and Blaine inhaled, groaning as he exhaled. “Move,” he said, holding the pillow tighter. Kurt’s finger moved in and out, twisted around, and Blaine reached down between his legs to grab his dripping cock.

“Another,” Blaine barely got out before Kurt obliged, pulling out and then putting another finger alongside the first. The blissful stretch opened up a part of himself Blaine had temporarily closed off, as if Kurt had raised the shutters to let in the sun’s light and warmth. But it still wasn’t enough, it wasn’t _filling_ him. “Unf, _more_ , Kurt, Jesus,” he cried, and Kurt responded, fucking three fingers into him. Every nerve was on fire, and Blaine was rocking on his knees, face buried in the pillow. Every thrust of his hips brought his cock fucking tightly into his fist, every swing back found him pushing harder onto Kurt's perfect fingers. The sensation was almost too much to bear, leaving him sweating, panting into nothing.

“Still not enough, ugh, Kurt _please_ , fuck I need your cock,” Blaine _thought_ he said, though for all he knew it was coming out of him as gibberish. He heard the tear of plastic, and a moment later felt the head of Kurt’s sheathed cock against his entrance.

“I’m going to start slow,” Kurt breathed into Blaine’s ear as he draped himself over Blaine’s back. “Just relax.” Blaine beared down as Kurt eased his cock into him inch by tortuous inch. He felt the head enter him fully, the ridge breaching, then a little more at a time until Kurt’s soft hair brushed against his parted cheeks, Kurt’s balls against his perineum. He breathed out a relaxing sigh. He was _full_ , in every way he could imagine.

“ _God_ you are so tight…unh, don’t know how long I’ll last,” Kurt grunted. He started fucking into Blaine slowly at first, just letting both of their bodies rock into each other, back and forth, give and take. But as the friction caused their skin to get warmer and their movements caused their blood to get hotter, the slickness of sweat made them slide more easily, reaching a frantic pace. Kurt got back up; Blaine felt the sudden cold across his back and missed the warmth of Kurt’s heart beating against it until he felt Kurt grab at his hips, snapping into him fast and furiously.  Blaine tried to rock back into him but couldn’t keep up; his knees felt like they would give out. “Kurt,” Blaine gasped, “I—“

“Here,” Kurt put an arm around Blaine and pulled him up so Blaine's back was flush against his chest. “Scoot up, and then _hold on_.” Blaine and Kurt went up further on the bed, and Blaine grabbed onto the rails of the headboard, bracing himself and pressing his face against the wood. Kurt pulled out about halfway, and then slammed into Blaine with enough force to bang the headboard into the wall. Blaine cried out as Kurt fucked him into oblivion. He closed his eyes and let the sounds of mind-shattering lust overwhelm him; skin smacking against sweat-slicked skin, oak pounding against sheetrock, the creaking of the bedsprings, the animalistic grunts and pants coming from Kurt, the nonsensical ramblings coming from his own mouth. Blaine was certain that if speaking in tongues was a thing, then he was currently having a religious experience.

He felt Kurt reach around his waist and grab his leaking cock, using the precome to lubricate his fist as he stroked, tugged, pulled, driving Blaine over the edge. Blaine could feel it; a full-body orgasm building up, through his chest and out the top of his head. He leaned his head back against Kurt’s shoulder, babbling in his ear, "gonna come, I'm gonna come, I want you to come, please come, come with me Kurt, come-"

Kurt went still behind Blaine with one last, deep thrust and _screamed_. Blaine could feel him throbbing inside of him, his only other movement the blur of Kurt's hand on Blaine’s cock. One last jerk and Blaine was coming in white hot spurts, all over the pillow, on and in between the rails of the headboard, and against the wall. He wailed out his orgasm, feeling it in his ass, his cock, shrieking out of his mouth and shooting out of his fingers and toes. Sparks of silver were behind his eyelids, and he could swear he heard _something_ crash and break. When it was all over he fell backwards on top of Kurt, their feet at the head of the bed and their heads up near the end. With Kurt on his back and Blaine on top of _him_ , his back to Kurt’s chest, they laughed like they hadn’t in _days_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs in this chapter: The Dresden Dolls, "Good Day"


	2. @mbtaGM

 

 

 

**MBTA @mbtaGM IMPORTANT: ALL #MBTA Service on ALL MODES Suspended. Check here for updates. 5:58 AM - 19 Apr 13**

The next morning, Blaine could barely open his eyes. Each time he tried, the light coming in from the east-facing window would cause his head to pound like the cast of “Stomp” had taken up temporary residency in his skull. His curls were haphazardly ruffled on one side, and flattened down on the other. When he was finally able to pry one eye open, he turned away from the window and saw Kurt pushing off from the bed, the sheet falling away to reveal his pale, freckled ass. He barely remembered Kurt cleaning him up last night before changing the pillowcase and tucking him in, snuggling up to be big spoon. While Blaine appreciated his vantage point as Kurt walked toward a chest of drawers, his hangover unfortunately clouded the experience.

“Ugh…where’s your cat?” Blaine finally grumbled into the pillow.

Kurt turned and eyed him warily. “What? We don’t have a cat.”

“You don’t? Then why does my mouth feel like a cat shit in it last night?”

“Yeah, that would be the cottonmouth portion of your hangover,” Kurt said as he pulled on a pair of briefs. “I’m going to the bathroom, need some water?”

“Yes, thank you.” Blaine stretched his arms above his head, working out kinks and pops in his shoulders as he woke up his muscles, then ran his fingers through his unkempt bed-head. “I’ll be out of your hair in a bit, don’t worry.”

“Eh, no problem. I’ll put some coffee on while I’m up.”

Blaine sat up and began to look around, trying to locate his clothes from the night before as Kurt padded out of the bedroom. Neither one of them tended to hang around too long the morning after a hookup, if they spent the night at all; it was never discussed, but considered bad form. Taking in his surroundings in the early light of day, he saw the nightstand was precariously tipped against the corner armchair. His pants were draped over the back, the pockets of which contained his cell phone, keys and wallet. He reached over, grabbed the top of the nightstand, and tilted it back up straight. He threw the blankets off his legs, swung them over the side, and without looking put his left foot down…right on a shard of glass.

“ _Aaaahhhhhoooo, motherfucker!_ ”

Blaine rolled back on the bed, grabbing his foot and blanching as he saw the pool of blood welling from a sharp cut. His shout could be heard throughout the apartment; Kurt came running in, hair still askew with toothpaste on his chin.

“What the hell, Blaine? What happened?”

“Gah, must have broken a glass last night, ‘cause I just stepped on it! _Argh_ , my foot, it fucking hurts!”

Kurt started to come around to Blaine’s side of the bed.

“Wait!” Blaine shouted. Kurt froze. “There’s probably still glass down there!”

“Shit, you’re right, hold on.” Kurt went to his closet and pulled on the closest thing he could put on fast, his running shoes. His feet protected, he sat at the foot of the bed. “Here, give me your foot, let me see it.”

Blaine gingerly let go of his foot, wincing as he took the pressure off so Kurt could take a look. Kurt cradled the heel and examined the sole; Blaine flinched, as Kurt’s ministrations were at once ticklish and stinging.

“It’s not that bad, Blaine. Probably hit more nerves than anything. I’ve heard feet tend to bleed a lot even with a little injury. See? Not even a big enough cut to need stitches.” Kurt pushed Blaine’s foot back toward him. “Grab some tissues off the nightstand, keep pressure on it…I’ll grab some gauze and peroxide, and be right back to wrap you up.”

“Hey, you may want to grab a broom and dustpan to clean the glass up,” Blaine called to Kurt as he stepped out. Soon enough, Kurt returned with the supplies, along with the promised water, and swept up the broken glass while Blaine cleaned the cut on his foot and wrapped it in gauze and a steri-pad.

“So…you think you’ll be okay? ‘Cause I’m going to get in the shower. You can let yourself out,” Kurt said as he emptied the last of the mess into the wastebasket.

“Yeah,” Blaine grunted in his second attempt at putting his feet on the floor, successful this time albeit with less pressure on his injured foot. “I should be fine getting home, I’ll just be limping more than I expected.”

“You mean other than you would have anyway…” Kurt grinned as he left.

“Ha- _ha_ ,” Blaine snarked at Kurt’s back, as he pulled on his boxer-briefs. With the door closed, Blaine drank the entire glass of water Kurt had left, finished getting dressed, then pulled out his phone and frowned at the battery indicator, taunting him with a red line and “9%” next to it. He needed to remember to plug it into his charger the second he got home, then get on his computer if he wanted to meet the 10 a.m. deadline for his column.

Dressed and with his foot bandaged, he walked down the hall, past the bathroom where he could hear the shower running, Kurt’s voice singing a [Juliana Hatfield](http://youtu.be/jUAVbGoR81I?t=32s) tune. He could smell the rich scent of brewing coffee wafting down the hall…damnit. Between bandaging his foot and sweeping up glass he knew Kurt didn’t have time to make coffee, so Santana must be home, and awake. He had hoped to grab his shoes from the living room and bypass her during his Walk of Shame, but no luck; she was sitting on the couch between him and the door, watching television. With the way the room was set up there was no way to not cut between her and the TV.

“Um…hi, Santana.”

“Morning, Dildo Baggins,” she grumbled over the lip of her coffee mug. “Hoping to get back to the Shire?”

Blaine cringed at the nickname. “Yeah…Kurt’s in the shower, I’m just leaving.”

“I hate to tell you this but you’re not going anywhere. _None_ of us are,” she said as she nodded toward the TV, which Blaine now noticed was [tuned to the news](http://video.msnbc.msn.com/msnbc/51593518#51593518); it looked like a police press conference:

_“…so we are asking people, do not go out to the bus stations, subway stations, if you’re there, please go home.  We also want to speak to the residents and the public within the town of Watertown and the cities and towns that are abutting Watertown, and to be specific we are speaking to the residents of Watertown, Newton, Waltham, Belmont, Cambridge, and the Austin Brighton neighborhoods of Boston. To those people we are asking you to stay indoors, stay in your homes for the time being. We are asking businesses in those areas to please cooperate and not open today until we can provide further guidance...”_

Blaine stood there slack-jawed. He couldn’t _leave_? He had a deadline, a nearly-dead cell phone, and a foot that he was fairly certain would start bleeding again soon.

“ _Hey_ , if you’re going to stand there with your mouth hanging open can you _not_ do it right in front of the television?”

“Oh. Right, sorry.” Blaine stepped aside and sat in the side chair, still slightly in shock. It wasn’t that he was sneaking out; Kurt knew he was leaving. It wasn’t that he didn’t like hanging out with Kurt, they were friends. It was just…well, when one hung around the day after the kind of sex they had the night before, it implied there was more _there_ than friendship. It was _weird_ , okay?

Now they were on lockdown, at least that’s what the flashy graphic on the news was branding it as. The news crawl just made his situation worse. Couldn’t leave, go outside, or even open the door unless it was for a cop. The trains and buses weren’t running. Then Blaine suddenly realized _Kurt_ hadn’t even heard the news yet; he was still in the shower. Oh God, Kurt was already going a little crazy with the campus closed; now he wasn’t going to be able to go _anywhere_. Blaine tried to imagine spending the entire day trapped in a somewhat strange apartment with a stir-crazy Kurt…maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Heck, maybe they could have sex again. Then he remembered; _Santana_ was home. This was going to be hell. Who knew how long this search would take? On the one hand maybe they’d catch the guy in a couple of hours. But what if they didn’t find him that day? What if they didn’t find him _at all_?

Blaine decided to go back to Kurt’s room; when Kurt got out of the shower he’d tell him what he had just heard on the news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs in this chapter: Juliana Hatfield Three, "Spin the Bottle"


	3. @julianahatfield

  

**Juliana Hatfield @julianahatfield i fell asleep to the sound of helicopters overhead and woke up to this on my front door--whoa pic.twitter.com/oz4ZTgjyoo 7:19 AM - 19 Apr 2013**

“A lockdown? A fucking _lockdown_? Are you _fucking_ kidding me right now?!?!”

Oh no, Kurt was not handling this well _at all_.

He had come back into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and dripping wet. Blaine had to confess to himself, he looked _hot_. The pale, toned, glistening body didn’t quite match the quizzical look on Kurt’s face when he saw Blaine fully dressed yet sitting on the bed facing the door, with his legs crossed. But after Blaine broke the news of the police order to Kurt, he had to admit the face matched, if by “hot” you meant “flames shooting out the sides of his face.”

“I cannot _believe_ this bullshit! I can’t go to school, and now I can’t even leave my apartment? What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

“Kurt, it’s going to be okay…”

“No it’s not, Blaine! I’ve already missed a week of school, I may not graduate unless they make special arrangements, I’m stuck here all by myself…”

“Um, no you’re not. You know Santana’s home, right?”

“WHAT?!?! Oh my God that’s even worse! I’m stuck with _Santana_ all day?”

“But wait…she’s _your_ roommate.”

“I know that, but it’s one thing to share an apartment when we have other places to go during the day. If one of us gets sick of the other I can run to the coffee shop for a little while, or she can go hang out with Brittany. But stuck in one place with her and having no means of escape?  Full immersion in Santana’s brand of crazy is not how I wanted to spend my Friday.”

“Well, you’ve got _me_ , anyway.”

“What do you mean, I’ve got…” Kurt paused. “Oh, _shit_. You mean…”

“Yup. Buses and trains are down, remember? And I left my car at the bar last night because I was drinking. Even if I _did_ have my car, I couldn’t leave by order of the Boston Police and the governor. I am as stuck as you and Santana are.”

“Damn. Sorry about that.” Kurt ran his fingers through his wet hair and spent a moment in contemplation. “Well, what do we do?”

“I haven’t thought that far yet. I have a 10:00 a.m. deadline, which I’m not sure is relevant anymore. I have to call my editor…oh, crap, that’s right my phone’s nearly dead. Don’t suppose you have a spare iPhone charger?”

“4S or 5?”

“5.”

“Damn, mine’s still a 4S. You’re going to need one of those Lightning thingies.” Kurt got a look on his face that Blaine could only describe as resignation. “Um…Santana just got an iPad Mini, it uses the same charger, right?”

“You think she’d let me borrow it?”

“Well I guess we should go ask her. Let me get dressed first…I guess I don’t exactly need to dress to go out, do I?”

After Kurt slipped on a tank, hoodie and yoga pants, he and Blaine went back to the living room, where Santana was firmly embedded in the couch. The news was still on, but she had switched to CNN, and she was texting on her phone.

“Santana, Blaine needs to use your Lightning charger.”

She looked up at the two of them without raising her head. “What for?”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “To brush his teeth with, what do you think?” That reminded Blaine, that water earlier was _not_ a good substitute. He’d have to ask Kurt if he had a spare toothbrush. “His phone’s nearly dead, and he can’t go home to charge it so he needs to borrow yours.”

“Ah, _nearly_ dead, not completely dead.”

“Ugh, come on, Santana, he’s on less than 10 percent…”

Just then Blaine’s phone buzzed. He looked down to read the screen and his stomach sank at the sight of three little letters.

 _Dad_.

“Huzzah, it lives!” Santana said as she looked back down at her own phone. “Get back to me when it’s DEAD-dead.”

He looked at Kurt apologetically. “Sorry but I need to take this,” he said as he turned and walked into the kitchen.

“Hi, Mom.”

“ _Blaine_ , thank God! Wait, how did you know it was me?”

“Because Dad’s usually on the treadmill at this hour. That, and I knew at some point you’d figure out I blocked your cell and you’d grab Dad’s instead.”

“Oh. Well I’ll try not to take _that_ personally. We heard about the lockdown in Boston, are you alright?”

Blaine sighed into the phone and looked up at the ceiling, willing it to open up and take him away to a place where his parents could never reach him. “I’m fine, Mom. It’s a _lockdown_ ; technically that means I’m safely locked away.”

“Well, we still think you should have taken our offer to fly home.”

“Mom, I told you, I had to stay in Boston to work.”

“I thought you said you could write from _anywhere_. That was the great thing about writing for an online magazine, wasn’t it?”

“ _Within reason._ I still cover music for the New England area. Last I checked, Ohio didn’t count.”

“Well I wish you were somewhere where I knew you were safe. At least until they catch whoever did this.”

“Until they catch…” Blaine scoffed. “Mom, do you remember how long it took for them to get bin Laden? You want me in Ohio for _years_?”

“No, of course not…well, fine, maybe, but you know we worry…”

“And I keep telling you _not_ to worry,” Blaine pleaded. “Mom, I _promise_ , I’m fine. Worst thing that might happen to me today is I’ll die of boredom.”

“Don’t say things like that,” she scolded. “At least you have Sam to keep you company.”

 _Crap_. “Um, Mom, don’t panic but…I’m actually not home right now.”

“What? What do you mean not home?”

“I…sort of spent the night at a friend’s, so I’m stuck here until…well, I guess until the police say otherwise.”

“Well, who is this friend?”

“Kurt Hummel. I’ve mentioned him to you, senior at Berklee, vocal performance major, fellow Ohioan?”

“Oh, the one whose dad was a senator?”

“Congressman, Mom.”

“Yes, that one. It was a shame he lost re-election. Well, give me his number just in case.”

Blaine blanched. “Mom, I can’t just _give_ you his number. Let me check, hold on.” He walked back into the living room, where Kurt and Santana were sharing the sofa, quietly watching the latest updates. “Kurt.” He looked up. “My mom wants your phone number…she says it’s for ‘just in case’.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Um…are you sure?”

Kurt looked at Blaine questioningly. “Sure, I’m sure…why?”

“Well, my mom can be…I just hope she doesn’t bother you too much.”

“Blaine, it’s fine, I get parents worrying, my dad worries too.”

Blaine muttered to himself, _your dad doesn’t phone-stalk your friends…_

“What was that, Blaine?”

“Oh, nothing.” He went back to the kitchen. “Now Mom, you have to _swear_ you are not going to harass him if I don’t answer my phone. This is temporary, only while I’m stuck here.”

“Honey, I’m not going to _harass_ your friends.”

“Do I need to remind you my composition theory professor nearly took out a restraining order on you?”

“Well, I thought he was being entirely too hard on you…”

“Mom, go find a Bible and _swear_.”

“Find a Bible? Blaine you have got to be kidding.”

“I’m not giving you Kurt’s number unless you do.”

“Blaine, you are …hold on.” After a moment passed, “okay, I have it.”

“Now put me on speaker, put one hand on it and raise your other hand.”

“Okay.”

“Repeat after me: I swear I will not call Blaine’s friend Kurt at all hours to check up on him.”

_“I swear I will not call Blaine’s friend Kurt at all hours to check up on him.”_

“I will lose this number as soon as the lockdown is over and Blaine is home.”

_“I will lose this number as soon as the lockdown is over and Blaine is home.”_

Blaine had to smile a little at himself; he could picture his mom standing in her bedroom looking like she was practicing for a bit role on Law & Order. “Okay. His number is 857-555-0216. You got that? Mom?“

There was no answer. Blaine looked at his phone; it had powered off.

“Santana?” He called out while walking out of the kitchen, waving his phone. “It’s _dead_ -dead.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, let me get my charger. Don’t go sucking each other’s dicks while I’m gone.” She pushed herself off the couch in a huff and stomped off.

“I don’t know if she got the whole number before the phone died. Either way, be prepared to have to change your number when this is all over…I apologize in advance,” Blaine said as they heard a door slam. “What’s with _her_ , anyway?”

“Remember when you stepped on that glass this morning and screamed bloody murder?” Blaine nodded. “Well she thought you were screaming for a totally _different_ reason. The fact you were walking funny didn’t help.”

“Yeesh. I do _not_ get what her problem with me is. I’ve never done a thing to her.”

“Who knows what lurks in the mind of that psychopath?” Kurt muttered. Just then Santana came back, her arm stuck out holding a charger cord. “Here. The _moment_ your phone is charged I want it back.”

“Thank you, Santana,” Blaine said as he took the cord from her. There was no reason to be impolite, Blaine told himself, even if she _was_ acting like a petulant child being forced to share a toy. “I’ll plug it back in Kurt’s room.”

“I’m sure you will,” she snarked back.

Blaine blanched at Santana’s innuendo. “Um, on the other hand, I’ll just keep it in here and come back later.” He plugged the phone into an outlet near the hallway, then started back to Kurt’s room, Kurt following. “So, as long as I’m here for a while, you mind if I use your computer? I can email my editor, and if she doesn’t extend my deadline I can at least use my Dropbox account to finish my column.”

Kurt smiled. “Sure, knock yourself out. I’m going to see what I can whip up for breakfast. I’ve got the whole day, might as well get my creativity out with a culinary outlet.” He leaned in and gave Blaine a quick kiss on the mouth, and…

 _Whoa_.

Kurt had _never_ kissed him the morning after they hooked up. Kissing was something that made sense in the context of the hookup itself, but morning-after kisses always implied _more_ …which was why they never did it. What flustered Blaine even more was that he had kissed _back_ , instinctually responded in kind. Blaine quickly covered his mouth as he let out a tiny surprised gasp, more a reaction to his own impulse than anything Kurt had done.

Kurt looked as surprised as Blaine. “Oh, I’m…I’m sorry, I—“

“No. I’m, um…” Blaine was flustered and didn’t know what to say. With his hand still over his mouth, fumbling for an excuse that didn’t sound like a rejection (because that would just be _rude_ ), he suddenly remembered his earlier thought when he needed the phone charger. “Sorry, morning breath. Do you have a toothbrush I can borrow? Actually, since it looks like I’m going to be here for a while I should probably take a shower.”

Kurt recomposed himself. “Um, sure. Toothbrushes are under the sink, towels are in the linen cabinet. You’re free to use any of my products on the right. Don’t touch the left, though…those are Santana’s. She gets very territorial about her hair care.”

“Okay, noted.”

“I’ll…be in the kitchen.” Kurt motioned to the door. “Help yourself to the computer, hair stuff, body wash, toothpaste…whatever!” He made a hasty exit.

“Yeah…” Blaine said. “Whatever.”

Yes, being stuck here was going to be awkward as _hell_.


	4. @NBCNews

 

**NBC News @NBCNews Photo: City on lockdown; an empty Kenmore Square in #Boston, Mass. (via Andrew Golden) pic.twitter.com/Bq23RiKpKQ 10:01 AM - 19 Apr 13**

“Aaaaaand, _send_ , thank God for cloud computing,” Blaine exclaimed as with one click he emailed his completed column to his editor.

“Congratulations,” Kurt said as he came back into the bedroom. “So I guess your business is taken care of for the day.”

“Yes it is. Thank you for breakfast, by the way.” Blaine leaned back in the desk chair and stretched his arms out over his head. “I may have to stick around the morning after more often if you cook like that every day.”

Kurt huffed a laugh. “Please, normally I’m lucky to toast a bagel on my way out the door. That was something I do for special occasions or weekend brunch. But thank you.”

Blaine did a slight double-take at the “special occasion” comment. When he had come out of the shower, brushed his teeth and gotten redressed that morning, Kurt was already banging away in the kitchen. He had managed to “throw together” (Kurt’s words) a frittata with zucchini, sun-dried tomatoes, pancetta, Parmesan and goat cheese. Blaine rolled his eyes at Kurt’s self-effacement, then proceeded to take a plate back with him to Kurt’s computer where he worked through the morning. He came back out only for seconds, and hoped Kurt didn’t notice that when he picked up the plate from the end of the desk earlier it had been licked clean.

“So, what have you and Santana been up to while I’ve been in here?”

“Trying not to kill each other,” Kurt said as he sat back on his bed. Blaine turned in the chair and barked out a laugh. “No, we watched TV for a while. Well, _I_ watched, Santana offered blistering commentary. You know it’s like a ghost town out there? I mean you don’t normally see a lot of activity outside our windows where we are, but all the news cameras pan around parts of Boston, and there’s _nothing_. No cars, pedestrians, noise; it’s sort of creepy. Like ‘The Walking Dead’ but without zombies.”

“I’ll bet…so you’ve just been couch potatoes all morning?”

“Yes, and I felt like I was about to take root in that sofa, so I had to escape,” Kurt sighed as he leaned back, resting on the palms of his hands. “You know Santana actually hasn’t been that bad. Turns out she’s a total ‘breaking news’ junkie. She pulled her laptop out of her room so she’s got that, her phone, iPad, _and_ the TV running at the same time.”

“Wow. Isn’t she going to get burned out on all that news though?”

“I don’t know about her, but _I_ sure am.” Kurt frowned slightly. “They killed one of the maybe-bombers last night in some carjacking, so there’s just one guy they’re looking for now. Turns out they were brothers. Blaine, he’s _nineteen_. He was a student at UMass, looked like any of the kids I go to school with. Oh, remember last night, I told you about the shooting at MIT?” Blaine nodded. “They were the same guys. The officer they shot died.”

Blaine stomach dropped. That officer hadn’t been much older than Blaine. He imagined how the guy’s father must have felt and for a split second he thought maybe his parents were right to worry after all. “Oh my God, Kurt.”

“Yeah. Just thinking about that officer’s family makes me miss mine. Blaine?” He paused, looking down at something on his hand, with uncertainty in his voice. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, you can ask me anything,” Blaine said as he moved to sit on the bed next to Kurt.

“This morning, when your mom called, and she asked for my number…is she _always_ like that?”

Blaine looked down at his hands in his lap. “You mean the Mother Hen, hovering mom routine? At least since elementary school, when I failed to catch up with my classmates in the growing department. I was always kind of a small kid, easy to pick on…” He started to say more, but stopped himself short. “But come on, I’m sure your dad worries just as much, right?” 

“Oh, yeah sure he does. But he raised me to be pretty resilient. The unofficial family motto is ‘no one pushes the Hummels around,’ and I don’t let _anyone_ push me. Well, not negatively, anyway. Professors pushing me as a performer, me pushing myself? That’s different.” Kurt stood up and walked to his dresser, where there was a picture of him with his dad. “You know I grew up without a mom. It was just me and Dad for a long time. He fought for me plenty of times, like when I wanted to sing ‘Defying Gravity’ but my teacher wanted to give it to a girl instead. But I knew, someday I was going to grow up and move away. That I would have to learn to pick and fight my own battles. So I did.”

He turned to look at Blaine and crossed his arms in front of him. “And you know, I think I learned pretty well. You know that girl I fought for ‘Defying Gravity?’ Well that was Rachel and she’s one of my best friends now; I’ll be moving in with her in New York after graduation. When I got rejected from my dream school? I thanked the foresight of my dad who told me to apply for a backup school. I mean, if I had gone to NYADA instead of Berklee I wouldn’t have met you, right?”

“Right,” Blaine said. “Who knows where I’d be right now if you hadn’t called me last night? Probably passed out in my car in front of the bar.”

“Hah, no, more like probably at home, with your roommate and your dog.”

Blaine shot up from Kurt’s bed. “SHIT, Roxy! Crap, I gotta get ahold of Sam, see if he walked her. Wait, how do you walk a dog in a lockdown?”

“I don’t know…hold her out of a window to do her business?”

“Very funny,” Blaine called back to Kurt as he walked into the living room. Santana was sprawled out on the sofa, seemingly asleep, with a pair of earbuds in her ears blaring out a live stream of some news website on her laptop, and the television on another news channel equally as loud. He grabbed his phone off of the charger he borrowed from her earlier and went back to Kurt’s room, texting on the way.

 **_10:15 a.m._ ** _ I need you to do me a favor_

 **_10:16 a.m._ ** _dude where r u_

 **_10:16 a.m._ ** _ I went to Kurt’s last night, stuck here in lockdown, did you walk Roxy?_

 **_10:17 a.m._ ** _snuck her out back to pee dude your mom called twice_

Blaine sighed as he sat back on Kurt’s bed. Of _course_ she did.

 **_10:18 a.m._ ** _said she was on the phone with you and then it dropped_

 **_10:18 a.m._ ** _ I know…phone powered down. I got it recharged, I’ll let her know. Sorry._

 **_10:19 a.m._ ** _U totally owe me._

 **_10:19 a.m._ ** _ Well look, can you keep an eye on Roxy until I get home? I’ll bring you that microbrew you like, promise._

 **_10:20 a.m._ ** _Watch your dog I will._

 **_10:20 a.m._ ** _ Did you seriously just try to text as Yoda?_

 **_10:21 a.m._ ** _do or do not there is no try_

Blaine rolled his eyes, garnering an inquisitive look from Kurt. He waved the phone at him; “Sam’s expanding his impression repertoire via text message now.” He shot off a quick text to his mom, _phone died, recharged now, no need to call back, I’M SERIOUS_ , and put it aside.

Kurt was sitting in front of his computer, tabs open to his Facebook page and Pandora station; there was a [Pixies](http://youtu.be/tPgf_btTFlc) song playing in the background. “So I see you came back in one piece. Santana must have softened to you.”

Blaine tucked his legs underneath him on the bed. “I doubt it. More like she didn’t notice me because she was sleeping… _how_ I have no idea. I could hear the audio from her headphones even over the TV.”

“I think it must be like white noise to her. Maybe it was all those years having Sue Sylvester screaming at her.”

“Who’s Sue Sylvester?”

“Oh, she was our cheerleading coach.”

Blaine could swear he misheard Kurt. “ _Our_? Kurt Hummel, you never mentioned that you were a _cheerleader_.”

“I didn’t? So I guess I never mentioned I was also on the football team.”

Blaine was stunned. “What? Okay, now I know you are _totally_ shitting me.”

“I am not! Okay, so it was only for one game. But I kicked the winning extra point.”

Blaine could picture Kurt in the uniform and equipment. Oh, there was a vision he wasn’t expecting. He looked Kurt up and down, appraisingly. “So, wait…that means you wore those really tight pants…”

Kurt shifted in his chair, “um, yes?”

“And the jock strap?”

Kurt reached back and rubbed the back of his neck, smirked and nodded.

Blaine suddenly felt a lump in his throat and a twitch in his jeans. He un-tucked his feet from under him, swung his legs back over the edge of the bed, and leaned back on his palms. “You know, Kurt…”

Kurt raised one of his eyebrows and bit his lower lip. “Blaine…”

“Come on, Santana’s off in her little dream world, probably narrated by Wolf Blitzer… _loudly_. She won’t even hear us.” Blaine motioned over his shoulder to the rest of the bed.

Kurt followed Blaine’s nod in the same direction with his eyes, then looked back toward the door. “Well…maybe we can fool around a bit. It’s not like either of us can go anywhere.” Kurt got up from the chair and twisted the lock on the doorknob. “But I’m locking the door, just in case Santana wakes up, and you _have_ to be quiet. I think there's some truth to that 'Psychic Mexican Third Eye' she talks about. You could put her in one of those sensory deprivation tanks and she’d probably know if someone was having sex within three blocks of her.”

“I promise I’ll be quiet,” Blaine said as he scooted up the bed, pulling his shirt and undershirt off with one tug. “If I’m not you can gag me.”

“ _Ooh_ , kinky, don’t tempt me,” Kurt said as he crawled up the bed after Blaine, pulling his hoodie over his head and leaving his tank top underneath. Kurt lay down next to Blaine, who grabbed him by the back of the neck and reached up to kiss him. He nipped at Kurt’s lips playfully, first the bottom then the top, and then sucked him into a searing kiss, pulling his bottom lip in between his own and then thrusting his tongue into Kurt’s mouth. Kurt moaned loudly into the kiss, making Blaine giggle and smile against Kurt. “Now who was the one who said we needed to be quiet?”

“Shut up,” Kurt muttered as he kissed back hungrily, pressing Blaine back against the pillows and shifting until he was nearly on top of him. Blaine loved feeling Kurt’s weight pinning him down, his arms enveloping him and keeping his own arms against his sides. They kissed like that for a while, slow and lazy. It was easy to pretend that it was a Saturday or Sunday, with no cares in the world and nothing better to do, instead of a workday thrown out the window thanks to a police order. Worried parents, passive-aggressive roommates, not to mention the obvious, all took a backseat to basic, simple, unpretentious and unadorned _lust_.

As they kissed, Blaine started to feel warmer, his nerves began to tingle and he felt harder in his pants. He reached down and fondled Kurt’s (perfect, round, firm, God why does his ass have to be so damn _awesome_?) ass, and quickly flashed back to earlier that morning; _that’s right, Kurt didn’t put underwear on after his shower_. He immediately became achingly hard and obscenely moaned, “ _Kurt_ …”

Kurt reacted by jumping up and pushing Blaine back on his back. He straddled him, inner thighs squeezing against Blaine's hips and his ass (seriously, he was downright _jealous_ of that ass) rubbing against his cock. Blaine softly stroked a strip of Kurt’s skin that peeked between his yoga pants and tank top. Kurt rocked back and forth, the rotation of his hips teasing Blaine in the most frustrating way. Then Kurt dragged himself down further Blaine’s legs; he whined in protest until Kurt stretched his hand up along the inseam of Blaine’s jeans to cup his package.

“Hmmm, I think I still owe you a blowjob.” Blaine nodded and moaned in the affirmative as Kurt rubbed him firmly through the cotton and denim. “Not that I’m complaining about fucking you last night, but I’d like to finish what I started. That is if you don’t mind?”

“N-n-n-no,” Blaine stuttered. “I d-don’t mind…oh _God_ …don’t _mmmm_ -mind at all.” He rolled his hips into Kurt’s hand, chasing the pressure and the grip Kurt was putting on his groin while reaching back and gripping the sides of the pillow under his head.

“Shhh,” Kurt chided, as he danced his fingers along the top of Blaine’s jeans, popping the brass button and dragging his finger up and down the zipper. Blaine felt like he was going to explode, muttering “ _oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God_ , you are teasing me and it’s _so_ not fair…”

“You know we can always go back to your gag suggestion,” said Kurt.

Blaine legitimately thought about it for a second. “No, no it’s fine, I can… _fuck_ ,” he hissed. “I can handle it. Just do something before I die.”

“Fine, I’ll stop torturing you,” Kurt said as he pulled the zipper down and nudged Blaine’s pants down to his thighs along with his briefs, letting his cock finally spring free. It was flushed red as it rested on Blaine’s belly. Kurt bent down to kiss the tip, nuzzling the thatch of hair as the base. He immediately took Blaine's cock in his fist, lowering his mouth over it until his lips met his grip. Blaine moaned at the sensation of wet heat blanketing his cock.

Kurt then pulled off, looked at Blaine’s cock, and tilted his head. “So…I wonder what your favorite part of a blowjob is, huh? Is it…getting your slit teased by my tongue?” Kurt pressed his tongue against the tip of his cock and flicked it a few times, gathering up the salty pre-come, and Blaine thought he would _die_ , with Kurt narrating his own death. What a _delicious_ way to go, he thought. He combed his hand through Kurt’s soft chestnut hair and stroked his scalp.

“Or, maybe it’s when I suck just the head of your cock?” He took the head of Blaine’s cock in his mouth, his lips wrapped snuggly just below the ridge, suckling softly at first, but quickly growing in intensity and power. He ran his tongue up against the underside of the head, stroking as he continued to suck in a manner that had Blaine thrashing against the covers, convinced his soul was going to be literally pulled out of him via his dick. He tightened his grip in Kurt’s hair and tried to keep himself from thrusting upward.

Kurt pulled off of him slowly, his lips still puckered as he reached the tip. Blaine whimpered at the loss of contact. “Or…maybe you like it when I do this, hmmm?” Kurt asked, tracing each vein and striation with the very tip of his tongue.

“God, Kurt, you are a fucking tease right now,”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t like it,” Kurt grinned.

Blaine huffed a laugh. “Okay, you’ve got me there.”

“Of course I do. But, maybe right now you’re just _greedy_ ,” Kurt looked up and met Blaine’s eyes, and the look on Kurt’s face was something Blaine could only describe as _mischievous_. “Maybe you just want me to swallow you _whole_.”

Blaine stared at Kurt and couldn’t say anything, because he was fairly certain that part of his brain just _broke_. Kurt must have taken something in the look on Blaine’s face as a “yes,” because the next thing Blaine knew, Kurt tilted his head back, shifted around, and descended on Blaine’s cock, going down, down, down until Blaine could feel Kurt’s lips on his base of his cock and his tip in the grip of Kurt’s throat.

Oh, dear, _Christ_.

“ _K-KU—“_ Blaine stuttered before he cut himself off, biting down on his lower lip and barely speaking out the quietest of moans, thrashing his head back and thrusting into the damp, tight warmth of Kurt’s mouth. _How the hell was Kurt so good at this?_ he thought to himself. He turned his head and bit into the side of the pillow he was gripping with his left hand, in an attempt to stifle his moans, while his right hand was buried in Kurt’s hair, scratching his scalp as he rocked gently into Kurt’s throat, feeling the muscles contract and squeeze as he swallowed.

Blaine breathed heavily through his nose; trying to keep himself from falling apart. Just when he knew he couldn’t last much longer, Kurt reached underneath with his free hand and started to press little circles into Blaine’s perineum, and that was the end of that. Blaine _lost_ it. He wanted to warn Kurt of his impending orgasm but he was too far gone, and with Kurt sucking him off so vigorously he was certain Kurt was well aware of what was about to happen. He whispered, “Kurt, oh my God you… _uh_ , that’s _it_ , that’s… _fuck_ …uh...uhhhh… _oh_!”

Blaine thrashed his head back, grabbed another pillow and pressed it over his face to muffle his cries as he shot his load down Kurt’s throat, pulses of warm come that Kurt sucked down greedily. He could feel Kurt slowly pull up on his cock, cleaning him off by licking up every drop of fluid all the way up to the tip. He pulled the pillow off of his face just in time to watch Kurt stick his tongue out to reach for a small dribble that had just escaped to the corner of his mouth.

It was _exhilarating_.

Blaine lifted himself up and rested on his forearms. It took a second for his brain to catch up to his mouth, but the first words that came to him were “did you…?”

Kurt wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Actually, no.” He sat back on his feet where Blaine could clearly see the outline of Kurt’s still-blazingly-hard cock tenting the front of his yoga pants, a stain of pre-come already visible.

Blaine’s mouth started to actually water. “Well it looks like those pants are going to have to come off, and since I don’t think anyone should have to be on _Team No Pants_ by themselves,” he kicked his jeans and briefs the rest of the way off in a Pavlovian response. “I’ll be happy to take care of that for you, if you like.”

“Well aren’t you ever the polite one?” Kurt smiled as he stripped off his tank top and pants and tossed them aside. He looked down at the sheets, still soiled from the night before. “I’m probably going to have to do laundry at some point.”

Blaine wiggled his eyebrows and pulled Kurt back against him. “Then you might as well _really_ dirty things up, if it’s all going in the wash anyway.” He reached between them and started to stroke Kurt’s cock, appreciating the weight and warmth of it in his hand. He slid his fist back and forth over the shaft as Kurt thrust into his grip, adding a little flick with his wrist when he reached the ridge of the head.

“Mmmmm, I thought there was going to be a little reciprocity here,” Kurt purred into Blaine’s ear. “A blow for a blow, so to speak?”

“Patience,” Blaine mumbled as he squeezed his cock at the base. “For all we know we’ve got all day.”

“And for all we know Santana could wake up any moment and wonder where we went off to.”

Blaine paused for a split second. “Okay, you may have a point.” He retained his grasp on Kurt’s length but began to crawl down the bed, pressing wet kisses to mark his path.

“No, wait,” Kurt said.

Blaine stopped with Kurt’s right nipple in his mouth. “What is it now?”

Kurt looked down at Blaine, and looked a little…Blaine could swear _shy_. “Um, I sort of want to…um… _straddleyouandfuckyourface_.”

Blaine wasn’t quite sure what he just heard. He sat up and looked down at Kurt. “What did you just say? I didn’t understand, you kind of hurried it out. You don’t have to be bashful with me, Hummel.”

Kurt sat up, looked right into Blaine’s eyes, and whispered, “I said, ‘I want to straddle your chest and fuck. Your. _Face_.’”

Even though Blaine had just come minutes before he could feel every last drop of blood in his body rush down to flood his still-recovering cock. He rapidly nodded, “I…you…I mean, um, _sure_." He winced at the squeak in his voice. "We can do that.”

Blaine sat with his back against the headboard ( _that headboard was getting a lot of attention_ , he thought), digging himself into the pillows and making himself comfortable. Kurt straddled him again, one knee to either side of Blaine's hips, and bent down to kiss him one more time before he rose into a kneel, his cock flushed and eager as it bobbed in front of Blaine's face.

Blaine reached out and gave the tip a tentative lick, the taste of Kurt's come bitter and salty on his tongue with a trace of sweetness Blaine thought might have been from his organic body wash. He softly sucked just the tip for a while, swirling his tongue around, savoring it like a popsicle just at the precipice of summer, eager to enjoy it to the fullest before nature took it away. He slowly dragged his mouth and tongue over the top of the head, then further down, centimeter by tortuous centimeter, drawing out the act to Kurt’s utter undoing.

“Oh, my God, Blaine get _on_ with it,” Kurt moaned. “I can’t believe you accused me of teasing.”

“As I recall, you wanted to fuck my face,” Blaine said while mouthing at his cock. “That presupposes some action on your part.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Kurt said as he suddenly thrust into Blaine’s mouth catching him totally unprepared. Blaine was mid-sentence when he was surprised by an entire mouthful that hit his throat, causing him to gag and sputter.

“Oh, _shit_ , Blaine, I’m sorry!” Kurt panicked temporarily as he pulled out quickly, patting Blaine’s cheek and rubbing the back of his head. They both laughed as Blaine tried to recover. “I’m glad you like my dick that much but don’t choke on it! You okay?”

Blaine squeezed his eyes and swallowed, gathering himself and working his way back up to play. It wasn’t entirely Kurt’s fault. Blaine _was_ being a cocktease. “Kurt, it’s okay, I’m good. Just…give me a little warning, alright?”

“Alright,” Kurt smiled, as they quickly recovered and repositioned themselves, Kurt grabbing ahold of the edge of the headboard. “So, take two?”

“Yes, take two, promise no ‘sex fail’ this time,” Blaine laughed softly, as he took Kurt back into his mouth, sucking more of the warm shaft deeper. He stroked Kurt’s shaft with his tongue, relishing the taste along all sides, paying extra attention on that spot on the underside that always sent Kurt _flying_.

“You ready for more?” Kurt said.

Blaine simply nodded and hummed, tilting his head back slightly, opening up and relaxing his throat muscles while breathing in and out of his nose. He gripped both cheeks of Kurt's ass and used his hold to pull Kurt's thrusts in deeper, kneading the soft muscular flesh of Kurt’s ass, swallowing and sucking and breathing as best he could. He planted his feet into the mattress, his cock bobbing up and down, slapping against his belly. He thought to himself he could happily do this forever, feeling Kurt fall apart above him and underneath him, and then cuddled by his side, his nose buried in his hair breathing him in, morning noon and night…

Wait, what?

“Uhhnnn, getting close…” Kurt’s grunts jarred Blaine out of his contemplations. “Oh, God I’m gonna come, gonna come _now_ …”

A vision suddenly appeared in his head, of come spattering him, _marking_ him, and just like that Blaine _needed_ it. He pulled off of Kurt and immediately wrapped his hand around his length, jerking him off. “Come on me,” he breathed. “ _Please_ , I want it all over me…”

“Oh God, _Blaine_ ,” Kurt cried as he came all over him in spurts; lips, chin, cheeks, neck, and upper chest. The moment he felt the warm splashes on his skin he came himself, without warning and without even being touched; his come gushing out onto his belly and Kurt’s backside. As they both came down from their orgasms, they slumped down into a tangle of arms and legs, come and sweat smearing everywhere. Kurt rolled off of Blaine and curled into his side, giggling.

“God, we are a _mess_ ,” Kurt said.

“Yeah, we are,” Blaine said as he reached up to wipe the come off his face.

“Here; let me.” Before Blaine could even comprehend what was happening, Kurt was leaning in and licking his cheek, gathering the jizz up on his tongue. Blaine’s eyes rolled back in his head and he wondered how did he end up in this situation, and could he stay in it for a while? Kurt was practically _bathing_ him like a cat grooms her kittens, licking the mess off of his neck and face, his warm tongue dragging over the rough flesh and stubble from a day’s worth of growth. It was so familiar, so intimate, that Blaine felt cared for, _cherished_ in a way that he hadn’t before in his previous encounters with Kurt. Or had he?

“That got most of it,” Kurt said as he sat up and crawled out of the bed. “But we still need to shower again, and get these sheets in the wash. Come on, _up_.” He playfully slapped Blaine’s ankle and attempted to pull the stained linens out from underneath his body.

Blaine felt like he was being suddenly awakened from a deep sleep. “Huh…sorry?”

“The sheets? I can’t get them off the bed if you’re still laying on them!”

Blaine shook his head as he got out of bed to help Kurt. “Oh yeah…right.”

He knew they were only sheets, but for how it felt, they might as well have been the proverbial rug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs in this chapter: The Pixies, "Here Comes Your Man"


	5. @edmraver

 

**EDM @edmraver The uncle of the 2 bombers, Ruslan Tsarni, is going at it right now. “they are LOSERS!” youtube.com/user/wpix?v=L1... 11:41 AM - 19 Apr 13**

“Ha, [I like this guy](http://youtu.be/by_CJrD7r_c)! He reminds me of my abuela.”

Santana had woken up, but was still fully engrossed in the news coverage. She had MSNBC on the main TV, CNN’s live feed on her laptop, the _Boston Globe_ ’s website on her iPad, and was currently scrolling through the Tweets on her phone. She also still had her earbuds in, thank _God_. Blaine and Kurt were on their way to the laundry room with an armful of stained sheets. They had each taken quick showers and Blaine had borrowed a spare t-shirt and jeans from Kurt; so what if he had to roll the cuffs up a little higher than he normally would?

“Hey, where are you two going?”

Blaine stopped and froze. Kurt spoke first. “To do laundry, Santana, what’s it look like?”

She slipped off her earbuds. “It’s just a weird time of day to do laundry, that’s all.”

“Well it’s something to _do_ , anyway.”

“Why’s Blaine going with you?”

Blaine suddenly felt way more conspicuous than he had in his life. “Lockdown, remember? Where the hell _else_ is he supposed to go?”

Santana rolled her eyes. “Well if you’re doing laundry, do mine while you’re at it,” she said as she put her earbuds back in.

Kurt huffed and put on a very impressive bitch-face, as far as Blaine was concerned. “I can go get her stuff while you’re getting the machine started,” Blaine offered.

“No, I’m afraid she might eviscerate you if you enter her territory. Let me, and you take care of the sheets. Super-size load, whites, and just use a half-cap of the high-efficiency detergent,” Kurt directed. “I might as well gather up more laundry. Getting the chores done now will occupy my time. Might even help free up my weekend, so there’s a silver lining, right?”

“Right,” Blaine nodded, while internally he twinged a little at Kurt’s mention of freeing his weekend. Freed for what, exactly, and why did Blaine care? Kurt went to get Santana’s things to wash, and Blaine got the first load started. He had been so afraid of being a burden on Kurt while he was stuck here; at least he could help out around the place. The domesticity of helping with basic household tasks felt nice. Helping _Kurt_ felt nice.

“Here we are,” Kurt said, jarring Blaine out of his musings. “I’ll separate these out; why don’t you grab the towels from the bathroom and we can run those after?”

“Okay,” Blaine said, running to gather the towels as well as other things to wash. He went back to Kurt’s bedroom to get his clothes from last night; they could probably use it. He bent down to grab the jeans, polo and underwear he had been wearing earlier, then stood back up straight, facing the bed, and froze.

There was a bit of dried come on the headboard from the night before…or was it from that morning? Either way, Blaine could feel a wave of memories ripping through him like a current.

_You ready to move this party elsewhere?_

_God, I fucking want you…_

_…you are so tight…_

_…want you to come with me…_

_Maybe you just want me to swallow you whole…_

_Please, I want it all over me…_

_Oh God, **Blaine** …_

“Blaine?”

Blaine yelped at the sound of Kurt's voice, the bundle of clothes flying into the air when he did. "Jesus, Kurt; considering everything going on, now's not the time to sneak up on a guy." 

"Sorry." Kurt lowered his hands. “I got a little worried when you didn’t come back with the rest of the laundry, you okay?”

“Fine,” Blaine squeaked, putting his hands on his hips just to give them something to do. He looked down partly out of embarrassment, partly to check to make sure he hadn’t popped a boner out of his reminiscing. “Just fine, just…I think the whole ‘hunt for a terrorist’ thing is making me jumpy.” He shook his head and collected the clothes he had just tossed from the floor. “Let’s go put this with the rest and then…” Blaine drifted. Then what? Watch a movie? Play cards? Have sex again ( _sheesh, Anderson, get it together_ )?

Kurt tilted his head. “Yeah, doing laundry is really a whole lot of sitting and waiting, isn’t it? I’d say we could catch up with _The Real Housewives of Atlanta_ reunion on the DVR but I think Santana would bite my hand off if I changed the channel from the news. I, um…just got _Save The Date_ on my iTunes? We could set up my laptop.”

“Sure, sounds great,” Blaine relaxed and agreed. Maybe getting lost in a snarky indie rom-com would help him get his head screwed on straight. At least he was sure he couldn’t say or do anything stupid doing _that_.


	6. @jane_bradley

 

**Jane Bradley @jane_bradley This guy was interviewed on BBC about the Boston shootings. See top right hand corner - he’ll never live it down: pic.twitter.com/kE59zfLmLU 5:47 AM - 19 Apr 13**

“I’m _bored_ ,” Santana groaned, leaning on the door frame to Kurt’s room.

Kurt raised his brow; “What do you want _us_ to do about it?” Blaine and Kurt had passed the time swimmingly. They had done three loads of laundry, watched two movies, and polished off the last of the frittata for lunch in between. They were currently sitting against the headboard next to each other, watching that week’s episode of “Mad Men” while commenting on the fashions and the bad-assness of [Trudy Campbell](http://youtu.be/vTkSFUR9_BM).

Santana walked in and flopped herself across the foot of Kurt’s bed. “I got up to Level 150 of Candy Crush Saga, I’ve read everything I can find online about Chechnya-- thank you, by the way, for telling me that “Chechens” aren’t actually from the Czech Republic--and I refreshed YouTube and _still_ no one’s autotuned Uncle Ruslan yet. I called Artie; he said if I send him the link he can probably do it and email it to me. Oh, and I did an image search on that dildo on top of the BBC interview guy’s fridge to see if I could find it on Amazon.”

By the look on her face, Blaine guessed she didn’t. Kurt must have seen it too; “So I guess your phallic quest was unsuccessful?” he said.

“Maybe it _was_ a novelty water bottle after all, I don’t know,” Santana said. “All they’re showing on the news is reporters moving back and forth, behind the barrier, over the barriers, it’s like fucking musical chairs.” She reached over and slapped at Kurt’s foot. “Entertain me. Put on a show.”

“I think I know what kind of show you are implying, and the answer is _no_ ,” Kurt admonished as he got off the bed. “I’m going to make another pot of coffee. Santana, _play nice_.”

“Jeez, Kurt, I meant singing, get your mind out of the gutter,” Santana rolled her eyes. She leaned on her elbow and looked up at Blaine, who was suddenly nervous about being left alone in a room with her. “So, have you exhausted him yet?”

Blaine didn’t know how to take that question, but either way he didn’t want to answer. “I’m, um, going to help Kurt find some clean coffee mugs,” he said, getting up from the bed and walking out of the bedroom.

“Aw, come on, tell me your secrets!” Santana chased after him into the living room, teasing him. “Why did you guys have to wash Kurt’s _sheets_ all of a sudden, huh?”

“Oh my God, seriously? I have _no_ clue how he lives with you,” Blaine said, exasperated at Santana’s joshing.

“Um, Santana?” Kurt walked out of the kitchen holding an empty coffee canister. “Where’s the coffee?”

Santana said in an irritated tone, “What coffee?”

Blaine turned to look at Kurt, certain he was about to witness him having an aneurysm. “The coffee that _you_ were supposed to get. The coffee I put on the list the _beginning_ of the week because we were low. The coffee that we now _don’t_ have, because _you brewed the last of it this morning_!”

“Oh, I was going to go last night, but then Brittany called and I figured it could wait until today, but then the lockdown and…um, oops?”

“ _Oops_? That’s all you have to say is _fucking OOPS?!?!_ ”

“Well how the fuck was I supposed to know they’d shut the city down? Besides, we _had_ enough coffee, until you decided to invite your little boy toy java addict over last night!”

Blaine bristled at both terms, “I am NOT a java addict!” He then stuttered, “and I am… _not_ Kurt’s ‘boy toy’.”

“Well then what are you?” Santana smirked, her arms crossed as if to challenge him.

Blaine realized… he didn’t have a very clear answer to that. He and Kurt were friends, for sure. They were compatible sexually, _that_ was a given. But he didn’t know how Kurt _really_ felt about him, except all those years ago after the first time they had been together, when he said he didn’t want to screw things up between them, that he cherished their friendship too much. Blaine understood and respected that, which was why it always bewildered him that they kept falling into bed with each other. Well, maybe bewildered wasn’t the right word, he knew why. Because Kurt knew how to put him back together when his heart was broken, and how to still him when his frustration with his parents left him shaking. Somehow he knew that sometimes Blaine needed a way to let go of everything that stressed him out, made him afraid, inhibited him, and just _be_ , and Kurt provided that outlet. Blaine was happy to do the same thing for Kurt. When Adam moved back overseas, Blaine could take Kurt’s pain and bury it for him. When Mr. Hummel lost the election Blaine saw Kurt’s disappointment, and just wanted to soothe it away. Even last night, seeing Kurt spiraling into sadness broke Blaine’s heart and he just wanted to see him happy all the time, the way Kurt made him happy, even in these ridiculous out-of-the-ordinary circumstances, and…

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Oh Jesus shit fuck holy crap Blaine _loved_ Kurt. He was in love with Kurt Hummel. Had he been in love with him this whole time? Did Kurt love him back? Oh God, what if he didn’t? What if Blaine really was just Kurt’s boy toy, to him anyway? What if Kurt was yelling at him…wait why was Kurt _yelling_ at him?

“Blaine? _Blaine!_ ”

“Huh? I’m sorry, what?”

Kurt looked exasperated. “I said, you have to go to Dunkin’ Donuts with Santana to get coffee.”

Santana whined, “Wait, why am I going again? And why do I have to take _him_?”

“Because A., I’m waiting for a call from my dad, and I can’t have my phone going off while sneaking out. B., _someone_ on the lease needs to stay behind in case the police come to do their check while you guys are gone. C., between your Lima Heights upbringing and your overall underhanded sneaky ways, you’re the best qualified to make a surreptitious errand. D., it was _your_ responsibility to get the coffee in the first place. Oh, and E., Blaine’s going with you to be a lookout.”

Blaine was _very_ confused right now; he had apparently missed a lot while he was having a major emotional realization. “Wait, what the hell is going on? What is this about me being Santana’s lookout? I thought we were in a _lockdown_ ; we can’t leave, remember? Besides I thought everything was closed.”

“Not Dunkin’ Donuts,” Santana said, lightly punching him in the arm. “Don’t you know? If Dunkie’s closes, the terrorists win.”

“Weren’t you listening?” Kurt said. “I think cabin fever and caffeine withdrawal has gotten the best of us, and that maybe we all need a break from each other before someone gets choked. Santana and you will sneak down to the Dunkin on Broadway, get coffee, maybe enough carbs and sugar so we can get through the rest of today, or at least until they temporarily lift the lockdown. They have to at some point, right? You’ll look out for any police so she doesn’t get busted for breaking a curfew. That and help her carry the coffee.”

“Shit, Hummel, how much coffee am I buying anyway?”

“Enough to keep up an elephant!” Kurt snapped, pausing before he sighed, “At least enough so we don’t have to buy anymore for a couple of weeks, okay?”

“Fine, let me get dressed. I’ll put a couple of extra razor blades in my hair in case we run into any stray bombers.” Santana went to her room to change out of her tank top and boy short PJs.

Blaine looked toward Santana’s room. “She’s not serious about the razor blade thing, is she?”

“Of course not, “Kurt said. “She only does that at night.”

He could tell by Kurt’s teasing tone that he was just kidding. Still, he prickled at the implication that coming across a terrorist-on-the-run could very well _happen_. “Kurt, are you sure about this? I mean, I don’t know how safe it is out there.”

“Boston is crawling with police all looking for the same guy. I think the numbers are pretty favorable. I know you’ll be careful, and you’ll look out for her in spite of yourself. Besides, Santana knows I’ll _kill_ her if anything happens to you.”

Blaine softened at Kurt’s protective phrasing. He thought about his epiphany and thought, maybe Kurt _did_ feel the same way about him, or would be willing to explore the possibility. Going on this coffee errand would give him time to plan; perhaps even pick Santana’s brain about where Kurt’s head and heart may be. He just knew he didn’t want to screw this up.

“Okay, let’s get a move on.” Santana came out of her room, wearing a tight mini-dress and high-heeled booties. “The sooner we get this over with the sooner I can get back to live-tweeting my death from boredom.”

Kurt cast a skeptical eye over Santana’s ensemble. “Are you sure that’s appropriate attire for a covert mission?”

“I’ll give you a covert _boot_ up your ass…”

“Come on, Santana, let’s go,” Blaine said as he took Santana’s elbow and led her to the door, in an attempt to defuse the situation before it got any worse. “Bye Kurt…I’ll text you when we leave Dunkin’s.”

“See you later, and be careful!”

Blaine shut the door behind him and caught up with Santana on the sidewalk. Maybe this was his chance. “Okay, so which way…”

“Rule Number One, no talking.”

“Um…okay?”

Santana turned on her heel and spun around, immediately in Blaine’s face with a well-manicured finger pointed right at him. It was intimidating, to say the least.

“I don’t like you,” she said. “I don’t like your ties, your boat shoes, your hair, or whatever small creatures you have trapped and gasping for air underneath all that gel, and I sure as hell don’t like how you jerk my boy Kurt around. You will quietly serve as a lookout for any cops. You will only open your mouth and your wallet when I ask you to, and _you_ are paying for the coffee, as well as anything else my sweet tooth might crave when we get there. Do we have a mutual understanding?”

Blaine gulped and started to say “yes,” but thought better of it and simply nodded in the affirmative.

“Good,” Santana smiled and winked, turned, and headed in the direction of the shop. “Let’s get coffee.”

This was going to be a _long_ walk. Blaine had no idea how they were supposed to be inconspicuous with the _click-click-click_ of Santana’s boot heels striking the pavement. The sound of her footsteps echoed down the deserted street, seemingly amplified by the lack of ambient noise. He shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to keep up, keeping his eyes peeled for anyone that might see them. What would happen if they were caught, he wondered? Would they be arrested? Maybe they could get away with just a ticket or a citation? Oh, _God_ , what if Santana really _did_ have razor blades in her hair? Would they be considered a weapon? Duh, of course they would! They’d get hauled off to jail, probably get interrogated. He’d seen _The Town_ , if for no other reason than he had sort of a thing for Jon Hamm. Hmm, being interrogated by Jon Hamm wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen…who was he kidding? He’d probably get tasered or waterboarded or something, and then he’d never get to tell Kurt that he was in love with him. What the hell did Santana mean by “jerking him around,” anyway? Blaine would _never_ …

“We’re here,” Santana announced.

Blaine looked up and realized he was in the Dunkin Donuts parking lot. Huh. _That_ didn’t take long. Worrying apparently was not only something he got from his parents, but also a _great_ way to make the time pass quickly.

“You grab the coffee. Two bags whole bean original, bag of dark roast, bag of vanilla. I’m going to get my donut fix on.”

Santana sauntered up to the register, clacking her nails on the counter. Blaine quickly grabbed the coffee bags and joined her. The radio in the shop was tuned to one of those easy listening stations, and Blaine could hear a familiar [song](http://youtu.be/nW9Cu6GYqxo) playing; “ _turn down the lights,_ _turn down the bed, turn down these voices, inside my head...”_ He shook off the melancholy feeling, directing his focus to the variety of baked treats behind the counter instead. Santana was already putting in their order, the cashier filling a box with chocolate glazed Boston Kremes, Strawberry Frosted, Maple, Coconut, jelly-filled…she was seriously racking up a bill, on Blaine’s dime, he realized. Come to think of it, he could use something sweet; if he was buying he should at least get something for himself. His eyes glanced over to one item that he couldn’t resist.

“Is that…is that a [_bowtie_ donut](http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3179/2694921988_72738a577b_z.jpg?zz=1)?”

Sure enough, there was a tray of larger pastries that looked like they had been twisted into a knot resembling a bow. Santana rolled her eyes, before nodding her head, and telling the girl “alright, and a couple of Bow Ties.”

Blaine grinned. “Thank you, Santana…”

“Don’t thank me; it’s not like I’m paying for it.”

He tried not to let his annoyance show, deciding to wait until they’d paid and left before confronting her. He gave the cashier his card, then took out his phone to send off a quick text.

 **_4:25 p.m._ ** _ Mission half accomplished! Coffee and donuts obtained, on our way back to HQ. _

**_4:25 p.m._ ** _HQ?_

 **_4:26 p.m._ ** _ Headquarters!  _

**_4:26 p.m._ ** _I’m rolling my eyes at you right now, jsyk. Hurry back but be careful!_

Blaine signed the receipt, pocketed his phone and card, and held the door open for Santana. As they walked out of the store she turned around and piled the entirely of their purchases in his arms. Blaine had had enough.

“Okay, what is your problem with me?”

“I thought I said _no talking_ , Blaine.”

“No, we are going to air this out before we get back to the apartment, and not in front of Kurt. What did you mean earlier about ‘jerking him around?’ I would _never_ do that.”

“Wouldn’t you? What have you been doing the last three years?”

“I…” _Three years_. Three years since the first time he and Kurt had slept together. “It’s what he wanted! He said our friendship was too important to screw up by trying to have a relationship.”

“And why would he say that?”

“I…I don’t know? Maybe he was afraid of what would happen if we broke up. Maybe he just doesn’t like me that way and was trying to let me down easy, I don’t know.”

“So, let me get this straight. This whole time, you’ve been ‘just friends,’ according to you,” Santana emphasized with air-quotes… _easy for her to do since her arms weren’t full of donuts and coffee_ , he thought. “Yet you fuck like rabbits.”

Blaine scoffed, “We don’t fuck—” He suddenly looked around, realizing his surroundings and that his voice had gotten louder. He hissed, “We don’t _fuck like rabbits_. Yes we have sex, not that it’s any of your business, but not all the time.”

“No, just when he gets dumped, or you get cheated on, or something happens in his family, or _your_ family. Seeing a pattern here, Blaine? He’s _my_ friend too, and I _live_ with him, so as far as I’m concerned it _is_ my business. Let me ask you something. Have you bothered to ask him in the last three years if anything has _changed_?”

Blaine was floored. Did he miss something this whole time? He couldn’t have. “No, Kurt would have said something. He would have told me.”

“Told you what, exactly? That he’s never gotten any signals other than friendship from you? That once you graduated he figured you’d probably forget about him and be wrapped up in post-college life? And then how amazed he was that that didn’t happen and you were still there? Or that it’s too late to tell you he loves you because oh, he’s moving to New York after graduation so why bother?”

Blaine was flabbergasted...and then _elated_. Kurt _did_ love him back! This was possibly the best news he could have received, from _Santana_ no less. Wait a minute…

“Wait, why would he tell _you_?”

“He didn’t,” Santana shrugged. “I eavesdrop on his phone calls. That, and every time you leave, or he comes home from _your_ place, he mopes for a couple of days like someone burned his whole collection of McQueen scarves.”

Blaine looked over the armload of donuts and through Santana like she wasn’t even there, seeing all of the missed opportunities with Kurt, “ _Holy shit_ ,” he whispered, as his eyes began to water.

Santana stared at Blaine, with an inquiring furrow in her brow. She whistled and muttered, “ _Damn_ , that hair gel must have actually seeped into your brain. You really didn’t have a clue, did you?”

Blaine gasped out a small giggle and broke out into a grin; seeing Santana’s reaction, he realized he must have just developed a major case of heart eyes. “He loves me. Oh my God Santana _he loves me_!”

“Oh God, _shut up_ , Blaine, you’re going to get us busted…”

“HEY!” an unfamiliar voice called out. “Boston P.D., stop right where you are!”

Blaine and Santana froze. They turned around to see a lone officer with his gun drawn. _Shit_.

“Hands where I can see ‘em!”

Blaine fumbled for words, trying to get his brain and his mouth to work at the same time. “Um, can we, uh, put the donuts down? Wi-wi-without dropping them, I mean?”

“ _Slowly_ , you can. But n-n-no sudden movements!”

Blaine carefully bent with his knees and set the box of donuts and the bag of coffee on the sidewalk. As he slowly rose back to his feet with his hands raised he saw Santana out of the corner of his eye, who looked _petrified_.

The officer approached them, silently patting them both down with one hand; he noticed that the officer seemed nervous and shaky. To Blaine’s relief, he put his service arm back in his holster.

“Now, what are you two doing out here? You know there’s a lockdown, and that means no one’s supposed to be outside.”

Blaine looked over at Santana, who was still rendered mute. He decided to be proactive. “Officer…” he glanced at the name badge, “…Bamboo, I apologize. We are law-abiding citizens, and we would never, _ever_ think about circumventing orders of the governor if it wasn’t an emergency.”

The officer looked skeptically at the Dunkin Donuts containers at Blaine’s feet. “Um, what _kind_ of emergency?”

 _Shoot_. “Well, uh…she’s pregnant?”

Blaine was almost certain that if looks could kill, the one Santana was giving him would reduce him to a smoldering pile of dust and hairgel on the pavement.

“She’s in that craving phase, you know? For some women its pickles and ice cream, for my Tana it’s Dunkins!” Blaine probably earned that stink-eye he was getting from Santana right now. “We thought we could get through today, but then she just had to get her fix. Doctor says it’s better for the baby to indulge the cravings. Plus you know today’s just been so stressful for everyone…”

Officer Bamboo held up his hand, “Hold it right there.” Blaine stopped. _God he hoped he pulled it off_. “You don’t have to say anything else.”

“I don’t?”

“He doesn’t?” Santana echoed.

“Nope. I’ve got two little ones at home, and my wife’s expecting the third any day. I know about the cravings; for Terri it’s cannolis from Mike’s. And they _have_ to be from Mike’s; I got her the ones from Modern Pastry once? Cause it was too late on Saturday and Mike’s was closed, you know? _Big_ mistake.” 

Blaine was stunned, surprised, a little guilt-ridden (but just a little). Santana was even smiling in spite of it all. “Oh, I believe you. So…you won’t arrest us?”

“No, as long as you don’t have far to go. Um, you don’t have to go far, right?”

Santana and Blaine looked at each other. “No, sir, just another couple of blocks.”

“Good,” he said, picking up the packages and giving them back to Blaine. “Just go home, watch the news, they’ll tell you when the order is lifted. Oh, one more thing?”

Blaine turned, “Yeah?”

“Take a lesson from me. Next time, buy extra donuts.”

“We will. Thank you officer!”

“Yeah, thanks,” Santana mumbled. As soon as the officer was out of view, Blaine was able to breathe…and then felt a sharp pain against his bicep. “Ow!” he said recoiling.

Santana punched him in the same spot again, this time twice. “That’s two for flinching. _Pregnant_ , Blaine, really? What the fuck made you think of that?”

Blaine rubbed his arm and hissed, “It was the first thing I could think of when he asked what the emergency was that wasn’t caffeine withdrawal. _You’re welcome_ , by the way.”

Santana sighed. “ _Fine_ , Blaine. Thank you for your quick thinking. Even if there’s no way I could be mistaken for preggers in _this_ outfit. That cop must be _really_ dumb to not notice.” She held out her hand and took the bag of coffee from Blaine. “Let’s head home and get this back to Kurt then. Speaking of Kurt…you were awfully excited before, yelling that he _loves_ you. So, I guess that means the feeling’s mutual and you aren’t just using him?”

“Of course I’m not _using_ him, Santana. I mean, I knew _something_ had changed, my feelings for him changed, or came to the surface anyway. But I didn’t know if that even mattered if _Kurt_ didn’t feel the same way. But according to you he _does_.  So now…” Blaine drifted off.

Santana quirked her brow, “Now…what?”

Blaine’s shoulders sagged with the weight of the uncertainty. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Santana; he was sure she was being as honest as she could with what information she thought she had. But there was hearing it from Santana, and then there was hearing it from _Kurt_. “Now...I don’t know? He’s still graduating and going to New York, which I know is just a couple of hours by train, but it wouldn’t be the same…what if he doesn’t want to do long distance? Hell Santana how do I _tell_ him? I should just say it, right? No, wait, I should _sing_ it…”

Santana held up her hand, “Whoa, hold up, Princess Gisele, don’t go busting out with ‘True Love’s Kiss’ or anything. Not every cop in Boston has a pregnant wife…I don’t think.”

Blaine scoffed, “Please, Santana. You obviously don’t know me that well…I would at _least_ consider ‘I See the Light’ from _Tangled_.” Santana let out a little laugh, and it made Blaine do an internal happy dance that he got _that_ out of her. “No, but really…how do I tell him?”

He looked up and realized they were at the front door to the apartment; Santana took out her key and started to unlock the door. “You’re a hot-shot writer,” she said, “ _write_ something.”

Blaine thought about it. He could write Kurt a…sonnet? No…a song? Ugh, too clichéd. Well with the day he was having he had the need to write _something_. As they went inside, and put the coffee and donuts down, he saw Kurt sitting in front of the TV with his laptop on the coffee table in front of him, and got an idea. “Kurt?” he asked. “Can I borrow your computer again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs in this chapter: Bonnie Raitt, "I Can't Make You Love Me"
> 
> ETA: FANART! Thanks to Gladys (cadet-gwladus) for recreating the scene where Blaine and Santana get busted by Officer Bamboo: http://mshoneysucklepink.tumblr.com/post/93043443572


	7. @RedCupRebellion

 

**Call em as Lyceum @CallEmAsLyceum . @RedCupRebellion Cup, how’s the coffee, or more importantly, the Irish part of the coffee holding up? What’s the latest? #BahstonStrahng**

**The Cup @RedCupRebellion @CallEmAsLyceum The latest is that I want them to find this guy so I can go to the bar. 5:27 PM - 19 Apr 13**

“I seriously can’t believe you just posted about our hookup online,” Kurt said with a playful tone of mock outrage.

“Oh, he just did,” Santana laughed into her coffee.

It had been just an hour since Blaine commandeered Kurt’s computer. In that time his writer’s brain had blasted into overdrive; while he wasn’t quite ready to shout his love for Kurt into cyberspace (at least not until he’d had a chance to tell Kurt himself), he still had a few other things to say about the last seventeen hours. “Come on, it’s not like I named names or anything. Look at it from a reader’s point of view; it _is_ a funny story. I don’t even know if my editor will post it.”

“You gotta admit, it’s a more adult contrast to the ‘how I kept the kids busy’ mommy blogs that keep popping up in my Twitter feed,” Santana said.

Kurt looked between the two of them. “Santana Lopez, I didn’t detect one bit of snark in that comment. Did someone whack you in the head during your donut run?”

Blaine’s phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket. He took it out and looked at the screen; “well well well, speaking of moms…” he grumbled.

“That’s my cue,” Santana winked, picking up her mug. “You guys know where to find me.”

“Planted in the Lopez News Bureau, we know,” Kurt called to her. He turned to Blaine. “I’ll go with her, give you some privacy.”

“Thanks.” Blaine answered the incoming call. “Hi Mom, I’m still alive.”

“No Blaine, it’s your father.”

Blaine took a second to regain his bearings. “Dad, um, hi! What’s up?”

“Son, I’m sure you know what’s up. We’ve been watching the news...”

Blaine braced himself for what was coming. “Dad, I’m fine. I’m sure Mom told you I’m at my friend Kurt’s.” Blaine smirked a little at calling Kurt “his friend,” when he knew he was much more than that. Even if it wasn’t official yet. “We've just been hanging out, watching movies...” _Breaking a state curfew to get donuts_ , he left out. "His roommate's been keeping us posted on the news."

“Well, be that as it may there’s still a terrorist on the loose, and even if they catch him who says he didn’t have accomplices, or that he wasn’t part of one of those terror cells?” his father said, sounding exasperated. “Look, your mother and I have discussed it, and we think it would be in everyone’s best interests if you would come home to Ohio for a few days when they allow travel again.”

Blaine could already feel his frustration with his parents’ overprotectiveness mounting. “I appreciate your concern, but I really feel like I should stay here. I’m fine, _really_ , and I’m safe...”

“Do you have _any_ idea how sick your mother and I were with worry on Monday?” His father was nearly shouting now. “Seeing those people in the street, bleeding? Wondering if one of them was _you_?”

“ _God_ , Dad, how much do you _not_ know me?” Blaine surprised himself at how mad he was. “Does navigating tourist-filled subways and traffic jams sound like any kind of way I’d want to spend a holiday? Besides Boston is probably the safest place on earth right now!”

“I don’t care how safe you think it is, Blaine. Please, for our own peace of mind, can’t you just come home?”

“ _I am home!_ ” Blaine yelled, nearly in tears. “I have a career, and friends, and a _life_.” _And love_ , he thought to himself. He had finally realized he loved Kurt and he wasn’t about to turn tail and run to Ohio to appease his parents’ paranoia. Especially not without knowing for certain how Kurt felt about him, one way or the other. “I’m not uprooting it just so you and mom can keep an eye on me 24-7!”

“But Blaine, it’s too risky...”

“Dad, _life_ is risky. What kind of life can I have if I cower away, avoiding risk?” _Like the risk of Santana being wrong and you losing Kurt if you tell him how you feel_ , a voice in his subconscious whispered to him. “You have to let me live my life, _please_. Now I’m hanging up. Don’t call me back again. If I need to, I’ll call you. Bye Dad.”

“Blaine, wait...” he heard his Dad’s voice before he ended the call. He clutched the phone in frustration, then threw it on the bed, wishing he could throw it against the wall instead, but deciding the hassle of getting a new one on a weekend, lockdown or not, wasn't worth it.

“God, _dammit_!” he wailed, still filled with aggravation.

He heard the door open and turned to see Kurt poke his head in. “Coast clear?” he asked.

“Yeah, come on in, it’s your room,” Blaine said as he sat on the bed.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes...no...just, _fuck_ my parents just drive me crazy sometimes. All the time, really,” Blaine said as he slumped forward shaking his head. “They want me on the first plane back to Ohio, where they can keep watch over me, make sure nothing bad happens, just like in high school.”

“Are you serious?” Kurt said, dumbfounded. “They’re not serious, right?”

Blaine looked up and could see both the astonishment and concern in Kurt’s face “Kurt, I know I told you earlier that my mom is just a worrier. But it’s a lot more than that. _Both_ my parents worry. Hell, they’re _obsessed_ with the idea of me being safe. The extreme overprotectiveness, the fixation on my safety? I want to say it was after I came out, but I think it all started earlier than that.” He looked up at Kurt. “Um, did I ever tell you that my dad knew some people that died on 9/11?”

Kurt’s eyes widened. “No, Blaine, how awful!”

“Yeah, they worked in one of the towers; one of the investment firms, I can’t remember which. The plane hit the floors right below them and knocked out the stairwell. They didn’t have any way to escape. It was either burn up, pass out from smoke inhalation, or…” He looked at Kurt, hoping he would understand what he was trying to say without having to actually _say_ it.

Kurt gasped in realization. “Oh, _God_. You mean…”

“Yeah.” Blaine stood up, not needing to say anything more about the specifics. “Mom picked me up from school that day, and she told me to go straight to my room. But I could hear my dad cry in his study. Kurt…my dad _never_ cried. At least not that I’d ever seen before. He’s only cried one other time since, and that was after I got beat up at the Sadie Hawkins Dance. I told you about that, right?”

“Yes, I remember,” Kurt shifted to face Blaine as he paced around the room. “You cracked a rib and had a concussion, and the next week they transferred you to a private school with an anti-bullying policy...Blaine? Did something else happen?”

Blaine just nodded, then flopped himself down into the desk chair and took a calming breath. “When I went to that dance, Mom and Dad were out of town on business. They did that a lot, and I was used to it. I was pretty independent for my age, so…I went without telling them. Kyle and his dad picked me up, and they were supposed to drive me back home when it was over. But as you know, I ended up in the hospital instead."

“Of course when the hospital called my parents they were on the other side of the country. They had to try to book the earliest flight they could, last minute; they weren’t supposed to be back until the next afternoon. With all the new travel and security restrictions, it took them longer than they anticipated. By the time they got to the hospital I was ready to be checked out.” Blaine dragged a hand over his face, remembering the night they had brought him home. "I got up in the middle of the night to get a drink of water. I had to walk past Dad's office, and I could hear him _sobbing_ , Kurt, talking to Mom. He blamed himself; he thought if they hadn’t been out of town, maybe I wouldn’t have gone to the dance. And then," Blaine took a shaky breath. “Then he said...he thought that maybe things would have been better for me if I had just stayed in the closet.”

Kurt’s jaw dropped, and he walked over to Blaine, bent down where we was seated and put his arms around him. “Blaine, I am _so_ sorry. I thought your parents accepted you…”

Blaine pulled away so he could speak to Kurt directly. “No, Kurt, they _do_ accept me. I mean, I know that _now_. Trust me, at first that was the conclusion I jumped to also. I tip-toed back to my room, buried my face in my pillow and cried myself to sleep that night. But then the next morning when they told me I was transferring to Dalton, I realized why they said what they did. It wasn’t them who didn’t accept me; it was everyone else, in their eyes at least. They were afraid _for_ me. They didn’t want me to get beaten up again, or gay-bashed, or fired from a job, or turned down for an interview. They loved me, but they saw my being gay as…well, a limitation. Something the rest of the world might not accept. But _you_ know and _I_ know that it’s getting better. More states are passing gay marriage, the Supreme Court just heard Prop 8 and DOMA…but I guess my mom and dad are always going to worry. You know, even if it wasn’t about being gay, they’d probably worry about a hurricane, or killer bees, or… ”

“Another terrorist attack?” Blaine laughed and nodded. Kurt still had a hold on his right hand, swinging it between the two. “Yeah, I remember you telling me they didn’t want you going to school in New York.”

“If they had their way I would have gone to Ohio State and majored in business,” Blaine cringed. “I tried reasoning with them; Massachusetts was more gay-friendly, they had marriage equality, plus Berklee was a prestigious school. I think the scholarship offer was the clincher for them. Well, that and it hadn’t been attacked by terrorists.”

“Until Monday.”

“Yeah,” Blaine laughed weakly. “Until Monday.”

Kurt smiled, pulled Blaine out of the chair, and hugged him. “Crap, you _have_ had a hell of a week.”

Blaine relaxed into the hug, breathing in deep, and inhaling the smell of coffee and honey-scented body wash from Kurt. “I needed this, _all_ of this. Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Kurt murmured in his ear.

They stood still there in each other’s arms, a melancholy [ballad](http://youtu.be/80tXy_YjDqc) floating out of Kurt’s computer. Blaine kept holding on to Kurt, realizing he didn’t want to let go, not yet, maybe not _ever_. It was as if Kurt’s aura had grabbed onto a piece of Blaine, like a vine wrapping around him, invading his senses. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence, but usually they were both under the influence of alcohol. Except for this morning, fully sober and more aware and everything feeling like so much _more_. Combined with both his earlier realization and the knowledge of what Santana had told him…

“Um, Blaine?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you…want to stop?”

Blaine took a second to breathe. “No.”

“Okay.” Kurt began to nuzzle Blaine’s hair.

“Kurt?”

“Yeah?”

Blaine pulled away to look at Kurt. “This morning, before breakfast…why did you kiss me like that?”

Kurt smiled. “Because…” he shrugged and answered definitively, “Because. Do you…want me to kiss you again? Like that?”

Blaine stilled in Kurt’s arms and thought. Then he decided, just for now, he needed to _stop thinking so damn much_. “Yes,” he whispered. “Like that.”

Kurt’s face softened, somehow, either a reaction to Blaine’s tone or the way he repeated him, but both knew something had _shifted_. The air in the room and between them had changed. Kurt leaned down and gently brushed his lips softly against Blaine’s, decidedly _not_ like the quick casual smack he had given him that morning. Blaine hummed into the kiss, moving his lips along Kurt’s, first the top, right on the bow of his upper lip, then the plumpness of the bottom. He tangled his fingers with Kurt’s as they moved against each other. Blaine felt Kurt’s nose nudging against his and they both giggled; when Blaine opened his eyes he was looking right into Kurt’s, which were wide open, his teal irises shining with...were those tears?

“Kurt? Are you okay?”

Kurt laughed, “I’m more than okay, Blaine. Much more than okay.”

Blaine grinned and went back in to kiss Kurt again, this time with more certainty and confidence. He pressed firmly, feeling the warmth of Kurt’s breath through his nose against his face. He experimentally traced the seam of Kurt’s mouth with his tongue and it gave in to his motion, cupping Kurt’s face with his hand and turning his head to deepen the kiss. Kurt’s hands reached up as well, his fingers combing through his hair before grasping around the back of his neck.

Their tongues and lips were now in a freeform dance, each acting and reacting to the other in a slip-slide of give and take. Much like their relationship over the last three years, Blaine began to realize. They had been trying to navigate this dance all by themselves without any choreography; maybe it was time each told the other what dance they were doing. (And maybe it was also time for Blaine to stop watching so much 'Dancing With the Stars.')

Kurt pulled away first, giggling as Blaine chased his lips. “Um, do you want to lay down? Just, it may be more comfortable than standing.”

“Sure,” Blaine nodded. They both kicked off their shoes and got settled on the bed, Kurt on his back and Blaine on his side leaning over him. “So, we’re just going to make out like a couple of teenagers?”

“Depends, should we leave the door open and pretend my dad’s out there?”

Blaine laughed. “No, let’s not. We already have Santana to barge in. Wait, do we want to lock the door?”

“Eh, let’s live dangerously. What’s life without a little risk?”

Kurt’s rhetorical question caught Blaine off guard, and he stared at Kurt with a renewed sense of awareness. He felt as if they were on the same wavelength and couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it this whole time. “What...what did you just say?”

“I said what’s life without ri-mmmmphhh--” Kurt didn’t get a chance to complete the thought as Blaine pounced onto Kurt, kissing him with a near religious fervor. It was a sign, he was sure. He had to take the risk; if Kurt was the one and he didn’t take this chance he would never forgive himself.

He could feel Kurt practically melting, sinking into the mattress as he pressed his weight into him. Kurt’s hands were all over him, sweeping over his back and shoulders, then one hand tangling into the hair at the nape of his neck and the other sliding back down to the dip of his lower back, then curling into the hem of his borrowed t-shirt and bunching the fabric, his fingertips stroking the bare skin, making Blaine’s stomach swoop happily. He reached under Kurt’s shirt and stroked his belly, up further and played with his nipples. He really _could_ do this forever, he thought. Laying there with Kurt, listening to his breathy little moans, feeling his lashes flutter and tickle against his cheek like little butterfly kisses, really was different than the other times they had been together like this.

Was it _really_ that different though? All of their other sexual encounters, he recalled, were steeped in an undercurrent of emotion. The loneliness of being away from home for the first time, the heartbreak of being left behind, the anger of betrayal, the disappointment of defeat, the fear of a world changed; all of it was neutralized, soothed, comforted by being _together_. The signs had been there all along; he’d seen the film before, but now he had the subtitles. Even that morning, the feelings were there, albeit unspoken. There was a playfulness to their lovemaking...oh God he just called it _lovemaking_ ,he must _really_ be gone.

It wasn’t long before slow and lazy making out gave way to frenzied and heated. Blaine kissed over every inch of exposed skin he could reach, swallowing Kurt up like he was oxygen. He heard Kurt moan as he rutted against him with his thigh slotted between his legs, nudging his face with his own. “Hmm, Blaine?”

“Yeah?”

“I...do you want to, um, you know...”

Was Kurt going shy on him all of a sudden? “Do you want to have sex, Kurt?” He nodded and Blaine’s heart curled up in his chest. “Yes,” he huffed a laugh. “We can do that.”

Kurt grabbed for Blaine’s hand and pulled it to his chest, looking into his eyes. “I um, want to do it...differently this time.” Blaine nodded to him as a gesture of reassurance, to continue. He wanted Kurt to know he could tell him _anything_. “I want you inside me. I...want you to fuck _me_ , instead.” Kurt chewed his own bottom lip with a look of uncertainty on his face.

Blaine hoped the look on his face was interpreted as a _happy_ surprise by Kurt, because he was sure the surprise was written all over his face. He knew Kurt had bottomed before, in his previous relationships, but he had never bottomed for _Blaine_. Not that Blaine had ever asked him; things had always just led to Kurt topping for one reason or another. But now that he had asked? “ _God, yes,_ Kurt of course, if that’s what you want. You’re sure?”

Kurt smiled broadly and his eyes were lit up. “I’m positive, Blaine,” he said surging up for a kiss. “It’s _absolutely_ what I want.”

“Okay then,” Blaine smiled, reaching over to the nightstand and retrieving supplies from the top drawer. With lube and a condom in hand, he looked suspiciously at the furnishing, then leaned over and pushed it a few inches away from the bed. Kurt arched an eyebrow at Blaine. “So we don’t have a repeat of this morning?” He motioned to his foot, to remind Kurt of the wine glass incident.

“So _that’s_ how glass ended up on the floor. Huh,” Kurt said. Blaine tossed the supplies onto the pillow next to them and bent down to kiss Kurt more. He couldn’t _wait_ to be inside Kurt, to spill into him, to feel Kurt squeezing and contracting around him...but they had plenty of time for that.

Right now Blaine just wanted to take his time to explore Kurt’s body slowly, reverently, savoring every _cell_ of him. He straddled him and pulled his own shirt off, tossing it onto the floor. By this time Kurt had pulled his shirt off too, handing it to Blaine to join the other. Blaine collapsed back onto Kurt’s torso, reveling in the skin-to-skin contact and how much more electric it felt being against Kurt like this, not because anyone had been dumped or upset, just because they wanted to be with each other. He sucked wet kisses onto Kurt’s shoulders, down his chest, along his ribcage...Kurt would giggle and jerk back a little when he traced his ribs with the tip of his tongue, and Blaine smiled knowing he had unintentionally made Kurt reveal his ticklish spot.

It wasn’t long before Blaine had shucked off his own jeans and was unzipping Kurt’s fly. As he tugged the tight fabric past Kurt’s hips he sucked and bit at Kurt’s hipbones, leaving red marks to turn purple. Kurt’s cock sprang free from the snug-fitting denim, no underwear to be seen. “Fuck, Kurt, why do you even _own_ underwear if you never wear it?”

“I wear underwear! Sometimes,” Kurt said, squirming a little to assist Blaine with getting his jeans completely off. “It depends on the outfit. _Lines_ , Blaine.”

“Okay, okay. Though I have to admit the commando look suits you.” Blaine crawled back up to kiss Kurt again, stroking his cock firmly and twisting a little at the ridge. He reveled in every hitched breath and groan that came from Kurt’s sweet mouth. Kurt reached into his briefs and brought Blaine’s length to full attention; Kurt’s grip was like a velvet-lined vise, squeezing and pressing in just the right ways, and Blaine wasn’t going to last at this rate.

“Kurt, wait,” Blaine hissed, batting his hand away. “I’m going to blow if you don’t slow down, and there’s so much I want to do with you.”

“Like what?” Kurt hummed.

“Well, I’ve never topped you before, so it’s kind of a first time for both of us. And since we’re already going to do one first tonight, I want to give you another.”

“Go on,” Kurt drawled.

Blaine swallowed eagerly. “I _really_ want to rim you, if that’s okay?”

Kurt’s eyes widened and his jaw slackened. “Oh, dear God please... _yes_ , that is so much more than okay, Blaine.”

Blaine grinned so hard he thought his face would break. He crawled down between Kurt’s legs while Kurt pressed his knees to his chest. Blaine settled down on his stomach and lightly stroked and massaged the fuzz on the back of Kurt’s thighs, nuzzling into his crotch and breathing in his scent, musky and honey-sweet. He rolled one of his balls around his tongue and then the other, before pressing a wet, sucking kiss to his perineum, pulling a wicked moan out of Kurt. He swept his hands back down to part Kurt’s cheeks. Flattening his tongue he licked over Kurt’s hole with wide, sweeping strokes, painting wet glistening stripes from the base of his spine to his ball sac. Eventually with each pass he would narrow his tongue a little more until it was nearly at a point. He probed at Kurt’s pucker, swirling his tongue around the rim and then pressing in; Kurt’s breathy moans urged him on and he rhythmically rutted into the mattress. He thrust it in more, a little at a time, until he was fucking into Kurt with his tongue in earnest. He felt Kurt’s left hand come down, tugging at his hair before clawing at the sheets.

“Oh God, fuck me Blaine, fuck that feels so good,” Kurt gasped. Blaine reached up to grab the lube, thankful that it was the edible kind (and raspberry, his favorite, _interesting_ ). He dribbled a little on his index finger and on Kurt’s hole, then slowly began to thrust his finger in alongside his tongue. God, Kurt was so tight and smooth, unlike anything Blaine had ever felt. Kurt cried out “fuck, _more_ ” and Blaine added another finger. His face had to be a mess of spit and lube and sweat, but he didn’t care; it was worth it to feel Kurt contract around him, hear him fall apart. He curled his fingers up to brush against Kurt inside, to see if he could find his prostate, and Kurt’s sudden bucking and shouting let Blaine know he’d found the spot. Blaine added a third finger, fucking and thrusting into Kurt with a fury. He looked at Kurt’s face, eyes squeezed shut, mouth wide open and panting, head thrown back, and nearly came right then.

“Blaine, I’m ready baby, please.” Blaine grabbed the condom and ripped the package open, fumbling a little before getting it turned the right way and rolling it on his cock, by now dribbling pre-come down the side. He lubed and lined himself up with Kurt’s hole, then turned and pressed a kiss to Kurt’s knee. He beamed down at Kurt, caressing his hip.

Kurt looked up at Blaine with a mix of lust, wonder, and warmth that he thought would kill him. “Blaine, what is it?”

 _Tell him you love him, idiot._ “I’m just so glad I get to do this with you,” Blaine whispered. He began to press into Kurt a little at a time, breaching the rings of muscle a little deeper each time. Kurt made these little panting noises that spurred him on, until Blaine was balls deep inside of him.

“Oh God,” Kurt gulped. “Move, please.” Blaine began to rock his hips into him, his cock a white hot flare as it pumped in and out of Kurt's tight heat. He looked down into Kurt’s eyes, and he could swear they flashed with each thrust, lighting up like a beacon. They spoke without words, Kurt’s face reacting not just to the physical pleasure Blaine hoped he was giving him, but to what Blaine was telling him with his gaze.

_I’m yours if you’ll have me._

_You are home to me._

_I love you_.

Blaine hoisted Kurt’s leg up over his shoulder, slamming into him harder. Kurt gasped and panted and clawed at Blaine, pulling at his neck to bring him down into a sloppy, passionate kiss. It was all teeth and tongue and hunger, and Blaine drank it like a man dying of thirst. He pressed his forehead to Kurt’s, his hair damp with sweat, as Kurt brought his legs around to Blaine’s back. He angled his hips to thrust upward, his cock pressed between their bellies as he used his feet to press Blaine in deeper. The slight change in position sparked a fire in Blaine, and he began to babble, “Kurt, fuck, so good, you feel so good, love this, love you, so good, love to fuck you Kurt...”

He reached in between them to jerk Kurt off, the sweat and lube and pre-come slicking up his cock, and soon Kurt was moaning wantonly. “Blaine, I’m so close, so...fucking...close,” he wheezed. “Keep going, harder, fuck keep going, you feel...god you feel so good, love how you feel...”

Blaine’s fist was now flying on Kurt’s cock while he thrusted vigorously and Kurt rocked into him, creating a circuit of pleasure. Blaine was dripping with sweat now, watching droplets fall onto Kurt’s chest and face. At least, he thought they were drops of sweat. They could have been tears of joy for all he knew.

Kurt’s face shifted; his head jerked back and he cried out the most beautiful sound Blaine thought he would ever hear. He trembled, and his cock pulsed and throbbed in Blaine’s hand, spilling out over his fist, onto his chest and up to his neck. Kurt’s ass contracted as he came, tightening around Blaine’s cock. He could feel his pending orgasm building, but held out for another moment, just to bask in Kurt’s release. Seeing and hearing and feeling Kurt’s release, the sheer unadulterated joy of letting go, was the final ingredient for Blaine. He thrust a couple of more times into Kurt, _hard_ , coming harder than he thought he ever could, spilling into the condom and feeling Kurt quiver and twitch around him. Blaine pulled out of Kurt gently, wincing when he saw Kurt twinge from oversensitivity. He tied off the condom and tossed it in the wastebasket, then grabbed some tissues to clean Kurt off. He curled back up into Kurt’s side, and pulled the sheet over them both. When he looked over at Kurt, Blaine could swear he was looking back at him with something akin to adoration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs in this chapter: Jonatha Brooke, "I'll Try"


	8. @piersmorgan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Advance apologies for the tweet being Piers Morgan, this was before he completely showed his ass)

 

**Piers Morgan @piersmorgan BREAKING: FBI believed to have cornered #Boston bomb suspect on boat parked on trailer at back of #Watertown residential backyard #CNN 7:25 PM - 19 Apr 13**

“So, I think we just had sex…” Blaine looked over Kurt’s chest to peer at his watch on his right arm, which was pinned under Kurt’s shoulder, “um, three times in under 24 hours? I think that may be some sort of record.”

Kurt laughed, “Yes, it might be. You think Santana heard us that time?”

“At this rate I. Don’t. Care,” he punctuated with kisses to his nose.

Kurt hummed and snuggled down in Blaine’s arms. Blaine sighed, not able to remember when he had been this happy and content. If he could feel like this, locked down and with a terrorist on the loose, who was to say he and Kurt couldn’t feel like this all the time? Blaine knew he had to take the chance; as much as he valued his friendship with Kurt, he couldn’t let the possibility that there could be more pass by, especially if Santana was telling the truth about Kurt’s feelings for him. There was only one way to know.

“Kurt?” Blaine said. “Can I ask you a question?”

Kurt turned and kissed just below Blaine’s right nipple. “Sure. But…first I have a question for you.”

Blaine shivered at the brush of Kurt’s lips. “Shoot.”

“Um…when you wrote that blog earlier, about our lockdown experience? You called it ‘[Love Lockdown](http://youtu.be/HZwMX6T5Jhk).’ I mean, I get the Kanye West reference; you write for a music magazine, after all. But still…was that the _only_ reason?”

Blaine steeled himself, mustering all the courage he could. This was _it_. “Kurt…there is a moment…”

His grand speech was interrupted by a sudden banging on the door, causing him and Kurt to both bolt upright, nearly giving each other concussions in the process. “Get up and put your panties on!” he heard Santana yell from the other side. “They got him!”

Blaine was rattled by Santana’s interruption, but that was quickly overshadowed by what Santana had meant by they got _him_. _HIM_. The _bomber_. That meant the lockdown would be ending soon, if it hadn’t already. He could go _home_! He looked at Kurt, who had a look of shock/excitement on his face. What was that excitement for, though? At the moment it didn’t matter. He and Kurt jumped out of bed, hurriedly threw on some clothes and ran out to the living room, where Santana was standing in front of the TV, remote in one hand and a Boston Kreme in the other, enraptured by the live coverage of what looked to be a helicopter shot of someone’s backyard and a boat covered by a tarpaulin.

“He’s in the boat,” she said after licking some filling out of her donut. “The police temporarily lifted the lockdown, which you two would have known if you weren’t busy fucking like a couple of bonobos.” Blaine couldn’t help but notice the blush on Kurt’s cheeks, along with a sly little smile, and guessed his own face could be described similarly. Santana continued, “Anyway, somebody went out for a smoke, saw the tarp on their boat was loose and then noticed bloody prints on the side. They looked in, saw the kid, and called the cops.”

They sat down, watching the scene unfold. It was like something out of an action movie, one of those hostage-negotiation plots. The newscasters did a play-by-play as if it were a Bruins game, explaining the flash bombs, rubber bullets, and other tactics the police were using to draw him out, preferably alive. Blaine couldn’t believe it; was this thing going to be _over_ , finally? He thought about how on edge the city had been all week. He thought about his parents and how worried they had been.  He thought about the people that were hurt, and their families. He thought about the ones that died. Did they hug their parents one more time, kiss their sweetheart? Did they say ‘I love you’ to the people they needed to? He looked over at Kurt, whose eyes were glued to the screen, and Blaine realized… _this thing was going to be over soon, and they still hadn't talked._

“Hey, earth to Blaine!” Blaine felt someone jostling his shoulder and realized it was Kurt. “You okay? Looked like you were in your own world for a while there. Penny for your thoughts?”

 _You have no idea_ , he thought. “I was just thinking about how short life is, that’s all. I do need to talk to you about something...”

“I think I’m going to leave you two alone to talk,” Santana said. She muted the television and put down the remote. “I can watch CNN’s livestream in my room.” She got up off the couch, picked up her laptop, and left.

Kurt watched Santana leave, and then looked at Blaine questioningly. ”Blaine? What do you want to talk about?”

Blaine steadied himself with a deep breath. “Kurt, you asked me earlier about the Kanye song.” Kurt just nodded. “Well, you were right. I wasn’t just using the play on words.”

“Go on,” Kurt prodded.

“In that song, Kanye was singing about not being honest about your feelings. Being so afraid of what could happen that you don’t take the risk at all. You ‘keep your love locked down,’ sometimes you even repress it to the degree that you don’t see it. And when you do that, you lose. You miss out on something that could be wonderful.”

“Or awful,” Kurt said. Blaine could sense his uncertainty.

“Yeah, but how do you know if you don’t try? All those people at the Marathon, in that split second I’m sure they all wished they’d had that one chance, taken that risk, said what they needed to say.” Blaine swallowed. “Kurt, do you remember when we first met?”

“When you interviewed me for that ‘Rising Freshmen’ profile for the student newspaper?” Kurt said. “Of course I remember. You were so nervous, I figured maybe it was your first assignment or something.”

“Well, not my _very_ first, but I _was_ pretty inexperienced,” Blaine said. “Honest to God, Kurt, _you_ made me nervous. You know you can be quite intimidating when you want to be.” Kurt flushed and preened a little at the statement. “You were just such a strong personality, and the way you carried yourself, not to mention you were just unfairly _gorgeous_. Then I really got to know you and you were so funny, and the way you talked about your family, and your love of music and fashion, and God, Kurt, you were the most fascinating guy I had ever met.”

“But then there was _that_ night.” Blaine closed his eyes for a moment, remembering. “Your dad had just been rushed to the hospital. Turned out it was a false alarm but you were _so_ scared and homesick, and I had the brilliantly _stupid_ idea to take you out drinking to get your mind off things. And the drinking led to kissing, which led to your dorm room, and…yeah. When you said the next morning that it couldn’t happen again, I agreed. Until it _did_ happen again, and again...”

“And again, and again, “Kurt chuckled.

“When Sebastian cheated on me, when Cooper was in that accident, when my favorite teacher from Dalton died, it’s always been you there to pick up the pieces when my world is falling apart. I guess it just finally hit me today how much you mean to me. I thought I just needed a distraction when you texted me last night. But you’re not a distraction, Kurt. You’re a place that’s warm and safe, and I want to be the same thing for you. Be _your_ warm and safe and happy place. Be your _home_ , so you don’t have to feel homesick ever again.” Tears were welling in his eyes and sticking to his lashes. “God I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner. I am an _idiot_.” Blaine put his head in his hands; he felt the cushions shift as Kurt sat next to him, taking one of Blaine’s hands in his own.

“Well then I’m an idiot too.” Blaine looked up at Kurt, whose eyes were just as wet. “You know, when I came to live in Boston it was the first time I could really express everything about me, including being gay. Yet I didn’t think about having a boyfriend; I just really wanted a _friend_ more than anything. Growing up in Lima, I was the only out kid in my school for the longest time. The only friends I had were in Glee Club and the Cheerios, but they didn’t really understand. Then I came here and I met you. You opened my world up; I had never had a gay male friend before. You were talented and creative and smart, not to mention good-looking, and we had so much in common. I finally had someone to talk to who _got it_.” Blaine knew exactly how that felt. It saddened him that Kurt didn’t have that until college; Blaine at least had Kyle, and later Jeremiah to talk to. “That morning after we first hooked up, when I told you it couldn’t happen again? I panicked. I didn’t know what it meant, to me or to you, so I brushed it off. Told you it was fun, but that I just wanted to be friends. But that was a lie. I _did_ want more. I just didn’t know how to ask for it. I figured I’d rather have you as a friend than nothing at all. When you agreed, I just assumed that was all you wanted too. It felt...safer that way.”

Blaine thought his heart would break. “Safer how?”

Kurt sighed. “Well, what if we dated, and then broke up? Then we wouldn’t be friends, or if we were then whatever caused the breakup would always be this dark cloud, hovering over us. Or what if something happened to you? I couldn’t bear losing you Blaine.”

Blaine pulled Kurt into an embrace, pressing his lips to his hair. “I couldn’t bear losing you either, Kurt,” he said. He thought then of his parents; how worried they had been after the dance, during every class trip for show choir competitions, when he moved to Boston. He thought of the parents of those who died that week. In that moment he felt that deepest love, the kind that can sometimes get overwhelmed by the fear of loss. “You’ve always been there for me, Kurt. You’re my safe place; you always have been, always will be.” He pulled back just enough to look into Kurt’s now-watery eyes. “I love you, Kurt.”

Kurt sniffed and smiled, his eyes crinkling as tears sprung out. “I love you too, Blaine.” He reached up and pushed an errant curl behind Blaine’s ear, dragging his thumb against his cheek. Blaine closed his eyes and leaned into Kurt; a cascading warmth starting from his mouth and pouring into his body when their lips met, moving through his limbs, down his spine, and all the way to the tips of his toes. He tilted his face to change the angle and barely parted his lips, touching his tongue to Kurt’s own. They exchanged kisses, soft and wet and warm until Kurt pulled away. “Wait, just wait, hold on.”

Blaine suddenly felt uneasy. _Oh god what now?_ “Kurt, what is it?”

“I’m still moving to New York in a month,” Kurt said, leaning his forehead into Blaine’s shoulder. “God, we wasted so much time.”

“No, no no no, Kurt, listen to me,” Blaine said, grabbing Kurt’s face and turning it so he could look into his eyes. “You’re acting like New York is on the other side of the country. It’s only a train ride away. If you still want this,” he grabbed Kurt’s hand and held it to his chest, squeezing it tight, “want _me_...it’s a risk I’m willing to take. We’ll make it work.”

Kurt laughed. “Tim Gunn would be so proud.” He pulled Blaine back into a more searing kiss, sucking and nibbling at his mouth. Blaine groaned into the kiss, fingering Kurt’s soft hair and stroking the fuzzy nape of his neck. Kurt’s hands were firm on his back, grasping at his shirt and dipping into the back of his waistband. Blaine barely registered Santana running out of her room, or the [music](http://youtu.be/LWQfLmhrEYg) pouring out.

“Lockdown’s over!” he heard Santana whoop. He recognized the sound of a refrigerator door opening and closing, the clink of glass, the rattle of a kitchen drawer, the pop of a cork. “Captured the fucker alive, damn it, but hopefully they got a few good licks in! I--” There was a pause, and he sensed she was right in front of them. _Screw it,_ he thought, content to keep making out with Kurt. "Well, I see you two are having your own celebration. About damn time. I'm going outside and taking the wine with me. You're welcome to join me and the rest of Boston if you want."

A moment later and the front door clicked shut. Blaine pulled away first with a wet smack, still touching his forehead to Kurt’s, whose eyes were shining with emotion looking back at him. _His smile could light the world right now_ , Blaine thought. "We don't have to go if you don't want to."

Kurt dragged his nose along Blaine’s own and shook his head. "Nah, we'll come back to this later. Now come on, I haven't been outside in nearly 24 hours, and I'll be damned if Santana drinks the rest of my wine without me!"

Kurt pulled him up off the sofa and toward the door. Blaine laughed as he was dragged out into the street to join the rest of Boston as they were freed from their temporary confinements; after all, he had _plenty_ of reason to celebrate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs in this chapter: Kanye West, "Love Lockdown"; The Lemonheads, "Into Your Arms"


	9. @Boston_Police

 

**Boston Police Dept. @Boston_Police CAPTURED!!! The hunt is over. The search is done. The terror is over. And justice has won. Suspect in custody. 8:58 PM - 19 Apr 13**

_“I love everyone in this bar!”_

“Santana, we’re not in a bar, we’re not even indoors, so get down from there!” Kurt was trying unsuccessfully to persuade Santana to come down from the street sign she had climbed, while Blaine was taking in the sights and sounds around him. For the first time in several days the streets of Boston were filled with joyful revelers instead of fear. People had spilled out of their homes and apartments, exchanging high-fives and stopping anyone in a uniform to shake their hand; one woman wrapped her arms around a beefy-looking police officer wearing assault gear to give him a big bear hug. He heard the beginning notes of “[Sweet Caroline](http://youtu.be/NsLyI1_R01M)” floating out into the neighborhood; someone had hauled their speakers out on their porch and blasted out the Fenway Park anthem for all to hear. Friends and strangers alike had their arms around each other, some with drinks in their hand, singing along. Santana and Kurt were among them: “Good times never felt so good! _So good! So good! So good_!” 

Sam had sent Blaine several texts, ( _whooooooooo!!! Did you hear we got him? The lockdown’s over now!_ _Bring a 12-pack of harpoon ipa! And milk cause we’re out, going to the bar don’t wait up, left Roxy with the neighbor, call your mom)._ The last one gave Blaine pause. He realized his parents were probably watching the news right now, wondering if he was in the crowd. He took out his phone and waved it to Kurt, mouthing _I’ll be right back_ while pointing to a semi-quiet corner, then retreated to make a call.

“Blaine, hi!” His mom was the first to pick up. “We’re watching on the news right now! Hold on, let me put it on speaker so your father can hear you.”

“Mom, I don’t know if he wants to talk to me right now,” he said, remembering how their last phone call had ended.

“Of course I want to talk to you, Blaine,” he heard his father’s voice say; obviously his mother had already switched to speaker.

Blaine took a humble breath. “Dad, Mom, look, I’m sorry about earlier. I was frustrated and I lashed out, and I apologize.”

“Well we’re sorry too, honey,” his mother said. “I know we can be overbearing sometimes, but we just love you so much. I can’t help it, Blaine. In my head, I know you’re a grown man, but in my heart you’re always going to be my little boy.”

“I’m sorry too,” said his father. “I just wanted you to be safe.”

“I am safe, Dad, in every way that matters,” he said, looking towards Kurt and smiling. “Look, I’m still not coming back to Ohio, at least not until the summer. But I think I understand a little better why you guys want to protect me all the time. I love you guys too, you know; you don’t think I worry about you also?”

“Is that supposed to be a dig at our age? We’re not _that_ old son,” his father laughed.

Blaine laughed along with him, for the first time in a long time. “I know. But you know the Midwest has tornadoes, and blizzards, and GMO corn, and what if you guys get carbon monoxide poisoning or something?”

“Okay son, I think we get your point.”

“Dad, I’m a big boy now. I’m not asking you and Mom not to worry. Just not to hover?”

He heard his mother sigh in defeat. “Okay, I’ll try. I can’t promise anything but I can at least try. Um, _eh-hem_. Honey, do you have something to say?”

His father stumbled. “Oh, yes, I’m with your mother on this. I’ll try too.”

Blaine smiled into the phone; his smile widened as he felt a pair of arms snake around his waist, Kurt’s face nuzzling the back of his neck. “Thank you Mom and Dad. Just trust me; sometimes the risk is worth the reward.”

“We love you son.”

“Love you too, bye.” He ended the call and leaned back into Kurt’s body, humming contentedly.

“So, your parents?” Kurt asked.

“Yep. I think they might actually give me the weekend off, phone-wise, anyway. Though I won’t be surprised if they suddenly show up on my doorstep.”

Kurt giggled. “Well, Brittany called and she can finally leave MIT, so she’s coming over to see Santana. You want to stay out a little while longer, or head back?”

“I don’t know.” Blaine turned in Kurt’s arms and pressed his lips against Kurt’s mouth. “Hmmmm, what do you want to do?”

Kurt grinned against Blaine. “I think we have a lot of lost time to make up for. We have to cram, oh about three years in a month?”

“Who says we only have a month?” Blaine kissed Kurt’s cheek, then his ear, sucking his earlobe in between his teeth. “You know, Sam texted me. He said he’s going to be out late, which for him usually means until the morning. That means I’ve got the loft all to myself.”

“Lead the way,” Kurt said, his eyes lit up like an aurora.

Blaine took his hand, and they headed back to Kurt’s to grab a few things before taking the train back to the loft. He figured he could pick up his car in the morning; he didn’t want to waste another minute. Blaine wasn’t sure where they would go from there, literally or figuratively, but he was certain of one thing.

Love, no matter what, was _always_ worth the risk.

 

 

**NEONTASTER @neontaster Spontaneous celebration in Boston from a friend on Facebook. #bostonmanhunt #manhunt #captured pic.twitter.com/ppV1cYgejk 10:02 PM - 19 Apr 13**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs in this chapter: Neil Diamond, "Sweet Caroline"
> 
> Also I wrote up a description of their first official date in a post on my Tumblr here: https://mshoneysucklepink.tumblr.com/post/60605818707 (someday I'll write it up as a proper fic.)


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to be able to repost the awesome Paste website mockup Rachel created for me, but for now at least you have the text! I'll leave up the other description for now.
> 
> Click on the title link for the full experience of reading Blaine's blog. No copyright infringement is intended; Blaine Anderson is a fictional character and does NOT write for Paste Magazine. Please don't sue us.

**Home >Blogs>Culture**

Love Lockdown: I Don’t Think This Is What Kanye Meant

BY BLAINE ANDERSON Posted at 5:48 PM on April 19, 2013

So how did you spend your lockdown?

I’m sure some of you were probably happy you didn’t have to go in to work, or took advantage of having the kids home from school. Maybe you caught up on email, or Tumblr, or got to Level 150 on Candy Crush. Others probably were frustrated because you had a project due, had work left at the office, weren’t prepared to have to entertain young children stuck indoors for an entire day and it _not_ be raining.

And then you have those of us who didn’t even have the luxury of being home.

I am currently sitting in a Cambridge apartment 30 minutes by train away from my own home, on the borrowed computer of my midnight hookup. Last night I was minding my own business, trying to put this awful week behind me with a few glasses of stout at Fritz (they advertise themselves as “Boston’s #1 Gay Sports Bar,” which is easy when you’re the only one) when the text came in; “you want to come over?” He’s a longtime friend who I share a certain brand of comfort with when times are hard. And I think we can all agree this is one of those times.

This morning I woke up to a wicked hangover, a shard of glass in my foot, and a snarky roommate who had the pleasure of informing me that I was _stuck_. And guess who had to break the news to my host?

There are rules to having a regular hookup partner, the most important one being not to stick around for too long or shit gets _weird_. Preserve the friendship above all else, even great sex. But when one is forced to by order of the Governor, you make the best of the situation until things can go back to normal. I got a great frittata, discovered a new hair gel, gained a greater appreciation for being far away from worrying parental units, and even worked in a Round Two with my host (what? The sex _is_ great). I even fit in a stealthy errand to Dunkin Donuts; we were out of coffee and caffeine-withdrawal-fueled anarchy was threatening to break out. And as a wise woman told me, “If Dunkies closes, the terrorists win.” We nearly got busted, but I was able to take my aw-shucks Ohio optimism and charm our way out of it, resulting in a nice bonding moment with the roommate (I’ll let you know if détente lasts).

He’s here, by the way…my hookup buddy, I mean. Looking over my shoulder as I write this and laughing his ass off. The roommate is here too, wondering what’s so damn funny. So maybe shit got weird anyway. Weird can be good. Weird can be normal. Hell, with the right person it can even be _better_ than normal.

Until next time...stay Boston Strong, readers.

**OTHERS TAGGED WITH**

Boston, Lifestyle, Culture, Blog

**FACEBOOK COMMENTS**

**Noah Puckerman** -Follow-Lima, Ohio

You're going to end up getting married.

Reply-<3,209-Like-Follow Post-April 19 at 8:05 p.m. 

> **Sarah Sinclair** -Top Commenter-Los Angeles, California
> 
> this is maybe my favorite comment ever on the Internet.
> 
> Reply-<327-Like-April 19 at 10:56 p.m.
> 
> **Mark Smith-** Top Commenter-UIC University of Illinois at Chicago
> 
> Noah Puckerman just won the internet.
> 
> Reply-<411-Like-April 19 at 11:46 p.m.
> 
> **Cooper Anderson-** Works at freecreditratingtoday.com/savings
> 
> Pack it up people, Noah just wrapped up the internet. Nothing else to see here
> 
> Reply-<241-Like-April 20 at 1:49 a.m.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final note and acknowledgements: I couldn't have gotten through without encouragement from my Tumblr peeps, particularly sothinky, Jen (adagioforpoe), stuts, supahero76, nadiacreek, ellejayanderson, klaineharmony, and especially Lissa (glitterdammerung) for pointing Odd my way to beta. Every time y'all replied to or liked one of my "I got 99 problems and BBB's one" posts, it lifted my spirits and spurred me on. If I forgot anyone, my apologies.
> 
> And FINALLY-finally: extras!
> 
> Links to Tweets used:
> 
> https://twitter.com/MIT/status/325079413186260993  
> https://twitter.com/mbtaGM/status/325186756909608960  
> https://twitter.com/julianahatfield/status/325207116275142658  
> https://twitter.com/NBCNews/status/325247844904747008  
> https://twitter.com/edmraver/status/325272912569462784  
> https://twitter.com/jane__bradley/status/325183952497283072  
> https://twitter.com/RedCupRebellion/status/325360098492940288  
> https://twitter.com/piersmorgan/status/325389704663007232  
> https://twitter.com/Boston_Police/status/325413032110989313  
> https://twitter.com/neontaster/status/325429257809563648 
> 
> Full YouTube playlist of songs and video clips, minus the MSNBC clip:
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLhrG4VgXyTmlRsiaElrWLZe9ZFiYjvw_o
> 
> Link to CD cover art on LiveJournal: 
> 
> http://honeysucklepink.livejournal.com/6643.html


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